And We Proudly Present Skippy Squirrel!
by Overandout13
Summary: Skippy, left alone by the passing of his aunt, takes over the main role in her series as an attempt to get her the recognition she deserves; but with Dot Warner back in his life he's torn between his own happiness and accomplishing his aunt's dreams.
1. Chapter 1

**And We Proudly Present Skippy Squirrel!**

**Chapter 1**

**Sudden**

**Certain Characters are owned by Steven Spielberg and Time Warner; I own nothing but plot, dialogue, and original characters. If I did own the characters, well let's say Pinky and The Brain wouldn't be the only spin-off series. And I'd get the final volume of "Animaniacs!" released for all us die-hard fans!**

**Hey, two exclamation marks in the same sentence must be serious.**

**Enough talking - or reading as it is, on with the story.**

* * *

"Aunt Slappy?" Skippy continued the process of shouting her name and rocking her from side to side. He felt he wanted to cry, but for some reason he couldn't, as though he had forgotten how to and it only served to make him feel far more guilty.

Of course he knew this day would come, not this soon obviously, but eventually. It was shocking, of course all deaths are, but he had expected her to go out with a humongous explosion, literally – not so peacefully into her sleep. Standing beside the still gray squirrel, Skippy stood in absolute silence, almost as unmoving as his beloved aunt save for his chest lifting as he inhaled oxygen. What to do now?

He obviously knew to call paramedics, after all he wasn't the same naïve little squirrel from over ten years ago, but his brain had lapsed into incoherent thoughts and horrible mental pictures of what was to happen next. He ran into the kitchen, not the closest phone in the house but it was the only one to come to mind.

_"Hell-"_A woman answered, cut off quickly by the scared squirrel.

"I need an ambulance!" He yelled the second he heard an answer. "My aunt, she's not breathing!" He shouted, the tears he felt guilty about not shedding earlier were finally coming. His eyes watered and his voice changed its pitch almost immediately.

_"Calm down son, we're going to need your address, do you know where you live?"_ The woman asked in a tone that belonged to addressing three year olds.

Normally he'd protest over being talked down to, and then after he'd dropped an anvil on the person's foot he would point out that he was almost eighteen, but he had already felt bad about being concerned over himself rather than his aunt earlier, he didn't need another guilt trip. "Tree number eight one seven, third street." He wiped at his teary eyes.

"We'll send an ambulance to you immediately." She explained, switching from her previously kid focused tone to one of more seriousness.

He heard the phone beep, not really sure on what to do from this point, the same exact feeling he had just a few minutes ago. He reluctantly put the phone back on the receiver and lifelessly drifted back to Slappy's room. Tears continued to flow, faster and stronger, the morning light seemed to get brighter too. "What am I going to do now?" He asked, unsure as to whom he was speaking, most likely his aunt. He sat on the edge of her uncomfortable bed and cradled his head in his hands.

Paramedics came and rushed her into their flashing white vehicle, laying the grey squirrel onto a cot surrounded by various complicated machines. They placed an oxygen tank around her mouth before closing the door, one of the men turned to Skippy and asked if he'd like to ride in the back. "No, I . . . I think I'd like to drive down alone instead." He said, ashamed of his answer as he looked at the ground in embarrassment, avoiding eye contact with the man.

"I would too if I were in your position." Said the man, patting Skippy on his furry shoulder. "It's tough to see a loved one like that." He returned to the driver's seat, his partner already seated in the passenger seat; they drove down the dirt path leading back to the paved road, their horn blaring across the forest. Skippy stood there and watched as the ambulance drove away, and remained even after it was out of sight; he was scared to walk back inside the tree, afraid that he'd experience a trip down memory lane. His legs refused to move and for a moment so did his lungs, but he finally worked up enough nerve to step up to the door.

He was right about the memories; they flooded his brain the second he opened the door. Her trusty old mallet lying in the corner, two sticks of TNT on top of it, a stained rug, everything he could see brought up memories of her crazy antics. Skippy grabbed a thin red jacket and the keys to his car, taking one last look at the living room before slamming the door behind him.

He opened the garage door, finding yet another thing to remind him of his beloved aunt, her red car directly across from his '67 Impala. _She loved that car almost as much as me__._ He held back more tears and hopped in his own car, backing out of the garage and speeding off to the hospital, leaving tire marks on the lawn as he went.

He parked the car in the nearest space and ran into the gigantic building, shoving over two old men as he reached the receptionist desk. "My aunt . . ." He paused and took in a deep breath, noticing how badly he was shaking and how high his fur was standing. "She was just brought here, Slappy Squirrel?" He asked the black haired lady with the nail file, who looked to be in her mid twenties.

"Could you describe her, sir?" She asked in a weird tone reminiscent of a Californian surfer girl from the eighties.

Skippy sighed, "Gray hair, green hat with a flower in it, bushy tail." He exclaimed, showing her his own tail in case she needed a visual aid.

"Oh yes, I'll be right back." She said, standing up and heading into a back room, her heels clacking against the linoleum floor.

She returned a minute later with a man in a white lab coat, obviously one of the doctors working here; he looked like he belonged on one of those soap operas or a cover of a romance novel, in fact that was probably a second job for him. "You are her son?" He asked in a European accent.

"Nephew, but she treated me like her son." He said, feeling oddly childish at his answer.

"I'm sorry, but she is no longer with us." He said, euphonizing death. "She was far too gone." Skippy lost all feeling in his legs and collapsed into the nearest chair, staring forward with no expression whatsoever on his face, time had stopped for him, only for him. "I'll leave you to your thoughts," He explained before turning around, "When you're ready to see her, she's in room twenty eight."

It seemed like hours before he was able to stand, and even longer before he was able to actually walk with them, and even then he felt numb. It was odd how almost all hospitals looked the same, long white walls and ceilings, smell of death and old spice, he wouldn't be surprised if all hospitals had the same decorator; and oh how Slappy hated them, always saying that the day she needed a hospital would be the day she died.

It wasn't funny anymore.

Skippy passed other people in the long hallway, some who were crying, other's who had the biggest smiles in the world. Funny how contradictive it seemed for these people to grin, but then again their aunts had probably lived. He reached room twenty eight, pausing to let his despair sink in, with one last deep breath he pushed open the door and entered the deathly cold room.

* * *

**Little Known Cartoon Star Passes Away in Sleep, Leaves Everything To Nephew. What Will Become of Her New Show?**

"Little known?" He said, re-reading the headline, bad enough it's only a blurb in the obituaries; they also have to badmouth her career? He swallowed his anger and continued reading the paper, all it did was briefly mention her, then went into what would happen to her new cartoon show, going into its second season and airing in the next two weeks; it was just one gigantic ad for Warner Brothers. Skippy tore up the newspaper, throwing the scraps onto the floor around him.

He had received everything, her money, her house, her car ("If anything happens to that car my ghost will haunt you!" her will had read on that subject), everything was now his, so why did he feel so empty, as if he had absolutely nothing now? Maybe because he did have nothing, just a bunch of objects that seemed to delight in torturing him with memories of dearly departed Slappy.

Being a 'toon, he was told that there was no specific legal age for him to inherit these things of value, just so long as he was over the age of twelve, and he was an official adult, left to support himself. On a slightly brighter side, he was able to stay in the house he had grown up in, no matter how big and empty it seemed now. Everyone in his family had a tendency to die early, not exactly with the fairytale ending: his mom and dad perished in a car crash and his cousins endured death by dogs. His aunt, well she was an exception; if anything would ever threaten her, she'd blow it up or drive it crazy, which was why it was so odd that sleep would be the thing to take her.

Her perseverance made her the only one left to take care of him after his parents' died, and that same determination she had taught Skippy would probably keep him alive for another seventy years, though a constant thought in the back of his head constantly asked the same question, _do I want those years?_

God, he hadn't had a suicidal thought in ages, but now it seemed like every other thought was taken up by how easy it would be to just end his misery, the other half of his mental process was taken up by how much he'd hate himself if he did try anything. No! He refused to let depression take over, how Slappy would've been so disappointed to learn of these thoughts, or how angry she'd be, ironically killing him herself.

He didn't even recognize himself, neither physically or emotionally; he hadn't bathed in days and knew his fur was starting to get unkempt. Skippy pushed away all current thoughts and moved to an entirely new set, though they were all in the depressing category.

Her funeral was smaller than expected, with fewer than fifteen people bothering to show up; even sadder was that half of them were her old rivals; the other half was a group of fans that were probably children back when her original shows were running. They all said how sorry they were and gave their condolences to the young squirrel that was left behind. That day was surprisingly sunny, not a cloud in sight, completely opposing his view on how it should have been, dark skies, thunder and lightning, rain and wind.

Skippy sat in the dimly lit room, sitting in Slappy's old chair, the only thing that seemed to comfort him. Yep, this was the life he had dreamed of – not the dead aunt - more of owning his own place, no curfew, no adult telling him that he had to do this or that, just him and any girl he'd bring with him. It was a nightmare, so sad and lonely, how anyone could live alone was beyond him. He turned on the television, then the VCR with a copy of Slappy's old cartoons in it, he pressed play and leaned back in the chair, watching as a younger Slappy threw a bomb at whatever was currently in her way. He leaned his head against his open hand and held back more tears as she occasionally broke the fourth wall and talked to the audience, seeming as if she was talking directly to him.

* * *

Meanwhile, a group of men in business suits sat around a shiny wooden table, arguing at each other, save for one man, standing in the corner and peering at the studio lot. "She was the star, there's no way we can continue the show!" Yelled one of the men.

"Of course we can, the show is a ratings dynamite," Argued another, though they all looked almost exactly alike. "Let's introduce David Spade as the pervert cousin and keep going!"

"That never works!" Another declared, tapping the table with his index finger, "We need to bring in James Garner as the wise old man!" He explained.

"Will you all just shut up!" The man in the corner had shouted, finally speaking. He was chubby, with slick black hair and eyes that people said could make you do anything. "You," He pointed to the closest man. "Did you find out who this nephew is?" He asked, his voice quiet, but still unnerving.

The man looked shocked, as if he hadn't expected being asked any questions. "Ugh, oh yes." Thoughts returned after he lost eye contact with the standing man and he reached for a tan colored file within his suitcase. "His name's Skippy, use to co-star with Slappy in a recurring skit on a show, "Animaniacs", got out of the business a few weeks after that though, and hasn't done anything since." He explained.

"What's he like now?" The man asked, turning back to the window.

"Physically or psychologically?" He asked, "We have reports on both."

The man remained silent, not moving or turning. "Both." He mimicked.

"Physically similar to Slappy back in her heyday, though with brown fur and a more masculine figure, taller too." The man paused, turning the page as quickly as he could. "Mentally, he was never as off the wall as Slappy, but he sure did try back on "Animaniacs." It's also well known that he deeply respected and depended on her, so this information may be irrelevant considering her passing."

"What's this have to do with anything?" Asked one of the men. "You're not honestly thinking to replace her with him, there's no chance he'd say yes."

"Quiet." Window man ordered. "Why has he stopped acting?"

The meek man returned to reading the file. "Not much is known about that, all we could find was an old interview saying he lost interest."

The man turned to his fellow associates, all of whom winced when he looked at them. "Get me the company limo; I need to talk to this Skippy Squirrel." He replied before walking out of the room. No one was sure who he was ordering to find the luxury automobile, but none wanting to find out, rushed to use their phones. "Nobody loses interest in this profession, nobody!" He shouted from beyond the door, making everyone in the room jump.

* * *

Skippy turned off the television after having watched every tape of his aunt and officially had nothing to do now. Either he could go to bed at four-thirty in the evening, or he could re-watch all the tapes. He opted for the latter and turned the T.V. back on. He pushed back on the reclining chair and watched as his aunt appeared on the screen, inside a gigantic red circle as it was common for most cartoons of that era to start.

A knock on the door pulled him back into his lonely real world and – while sighing with aggravation, he reluctantly answered the door. "Yeah, what do you want?" He asked, opening said door to see a tall and chubby man standing before him, slicked black hair and a pair of sunglasses that were meant to make him look cool, but failed horribly. Though Skippy figured he really wasn't much to look at either considering he hadn't bathed in a week since his aunt's death.

"Skippy Squirrel I presume." The man greeted.

"You presumed correctly," He said, forcing as much sarcasm as he could into it without sounding juvenile. "And you would be . . ."

"Jonathan Saunters, head of development at Warner Brothers studios." He offered his hand.

Skippy stared at it as if it was on fire and returned his scowl to the darkened lenses covering the man's eyes. "Good for you." He rubbed the back of his head with his right hand. "If you've come to pay your respects, she's buried out in-"

"I know where she's buried." He interrupted, making it sound as if he knew everything else while he was at it. "And I've already paid my respects." He continued, this time giving a tone that sounded like it was a burden to visit a headstone.

"You're not making any good impressions here." The squirrel explained, prepared to slam the door. "I'm not in the mood for games, so either you tell me what you want or I can slam this door and never look back." He began to close the door when the man shoved his foot between it and the wall.

The man glared at Skippy and removed his sunglasses, melodramatically in the squirrel's opinion; he had aqua blue eyes that seemed to analyze almost everything in a nanosecond. "Being her nephew, I'm sure you've heard of the Slap Happy Slappy show."

"Yeah, I've heard of it." Skippy, rather than invite the man inside his home and risk him criticizing what bad shape it was currently in, stepped outside, closing the door, though he was still able to hear an explosion or two coming from the Slappy cartoon on the television. "And I've also heard your bringing it back for a second season, but how you're going to do that without the main star is beyond me." He said, looking from the man to the overgrown lawn he needed to cut.

"It's been done before; ever hear of "Bewitched"?" Saunters asked, licking his lips as he looked around his surroundings, giving an unimpressed look when he finished.

"Yeah," Skippy said, knowing that if he had any interest it would be rapidly decreasing.

"Darrin was replaced and no one bothered to care. How about "Three's Company", they had a woman named Lana that left with no explanation whatsoever." He smiled, flashing a set of shiny white teeth that deserved to be used on a dental commercial rather than in the mouth of this man, who clearly used them to eat whatever came in sight.

"Listen, I'm still not hearing a point and discussing shows from the past generations isn't exactly on the top of my to-do list so if you don't mind, I'm going back inside." He turned to the door.

"What? Go back and mope over your dead aunt, or maybe you can watch her cartoons some more." The man shook his head as if he was Skippy's disappointed father, which only served to anger the squirrel. "I'm guessing this is the first time you've stepped out of that house since her funeral; you think that's what Slappy would want? Her only living relative becoming a sad excuse of what he used to be?"

This was another push to send Skippy over the edge, his grip on the door knob loosened and he quickly turned back to the man, faces an inch apart, Skippy jabbed his finger at the man. "You do not talk like you know what Aunt Slappy would want, so get off my lawn and out of my sight." He ordered, determined not to blink.

"Fine, I'll leave, but not before I tell you what I'm here for." He pushed Skippy's hand away, placing a business card in said hand the second he was able to. "We want you to step into your aunt's role, take over as the lead star, kid."

Skippy at first was shocked, but regained his anger and simply scoffed at the idea, waving the hand without the card in the air. "Even in the slightest chance that I wouldn't be offended at your offer, I gave up acting years ago." Skippy, giving one last glare, repeated his process of turning to the door.

"Yes, my associates never found the reason behind that." The man shrugged before putting his sunglasses back on and walking back to his black limo. "Shame really, that cartoon was making Slappy a household name again." He said, waiting for the driver to exit his seat, walk around the car and open his door for him. "But I suppose she'll just fade back into the shadow of Bugs and Daffy." He entered the car, waving as the driver slammed the door.

Now the man was playing dirty, Skippy knew it, he was throwing out his aunt's reputation as bait for the ready-to-defend squirrel; Skippy didn't know what was worse, the man assuming he was gullible enough to let that get to him, or that it was working. He suppressed the urge to turn around and strangle the suit wearing man and walked back inside, slamming the door in frustration.

"_Now that's comedy!_" Declared his young aunt from within the television screen as her current cartoon ended, soon to be replaced by yet another, or so he thought.

The screen turned to blue as the tape stopped and began to rewind, and that being the only source of light in the entire house, it turned the entire living room into the same bright blue color. Skippy pressed his back against the wall and sighed in exasperation, thinking over the things he had just heard. His aunt had wanted two things before she died, for Skippy to grow up into a fine young man, and to be a famous cartoon star one last time.

"Little known cartoon star, twelve people at a funeral, turning her into a household name again." He repeated, summing up most of the prologue in one sentence. Skippy looked at the business card, debating internally on what to do from here. With another sigh, he stuffed down his pride and walked into the kitchen, turning on the light to see one of the dirtiest kitchens he had ever seen, plates stacked high in the sink, moldy foods lying on the counter beside it.

Skippy reached for the phone, recoiling back in slight uncertainty.

"Not yet," He muttered to himself, something he had grown used to in this big empty house. "First I think of demands." Skippy declared, the rules of being an actor burnt into his mind from his career ages ago, he looked back into the living room, then at the disgusting sink; in a rare moment of clarity, the squirrel walked to the sink and began to clean the dishes.

He had been out of the acting business for years now, but the information was always fresh in his mind, preparing for the dreaded day he had to return to acting, how he hoped that day would never come though. He knew that you never make a move without planning the steps that would follow, he knew that you should never take an executive on their word, but most importantly he knew that contracts always had loopholes that could turn around and bite you in the . . .

His aunt Slappy had taught him all this the third week he had moved in, during one of his first, and unexpected auditions.

* * *

First chapter, reviews are welcome, but flamers can take that **** elsewhere. I'm sorry if Skippy seems out of character but there are two reason's for this.

A) His personality was always changing, from immediately acting like Slappy (I Got yer' Can) to reluctance over using her techniques or advice (Bully for Skippy) and the only thing that always remained was how much he adored Slappy.

B) He and his aunt never really got to many spots, not as few as Rita and Runt or Chicken Boo, but certainly not as many as Pinky and the Brain (though to be fair those two got a great spin-off).

Second chapter coming soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**And We Proudly Present Skippy Squirrel!**

**Chapter 2**

**Back-Tracking, Co-Stars, Reasons.**

* * *

Five weeks since his parent's death and two since he'd met aunt Slappy, they had hardly said four words to each other and now she was taking him to one of those acting practices or whatever they were called. He was tired, maybe because she had the nerve to wake him up at seven in the morning and rush him out to the red Dodge Viper of hers. Though he had hope, hope that he'd be able to catch at least some sleep on the drive over, after all Slappy was incredibly old, how fast could she drive?

He was seven, meaning that when his life flashed before his eye it was incredibly short; he blinked at four and missed two years of life. _This woman is a maniac! _He thought, clutching his seat for dear life. "Could we slow down?" He asked through clenched teeth.

"Sorry kid, but I let you sleep in this morning and I'm already driving slower than usual."

_Sleep in, slower than usual? _Now the young squirrel was afraid he'd have a heart attack before they reached wherever it was they were going. "How is it you're my only living relative?" His face had gone numb and his pronunciation was barely understandable.

She shrugged and adjusted her green cap, "Beats me kid, maybe I've built up immunity to death, or maybe I'm just the luckiest son of a . . ." Slappy paused, not use to having a kid around she had never been one to avoid profanities. "Maybe I'm just lucky." She opted for, shortening her previous response.

"You were gonna say a bad word," Skippy said, his fur standing on end.

"Yes, and it was a very, very, very bad thing." She explained, honking at the car in front of her, occupied by an old woman that was barely tall enough to see over the dash.

Skippy closed his eyes in a futile attempt at escaping his current predicament; he heard brakes screech and expected a gigantic thrash of colliding metal, instead he found it actually anticlimactic, rather stopping safely beside an amusement park like area, or so it appeared at first glance, a second revealed that the amusement park was really a heavily detailed piece of plastic. "Where are we?" He asked after his heartbeat returned to normal and his frantic breathing subsided.

"Where at a studio, it's where they make movies, their thinking of hiring me on some new show." Slappy explained, unbuckling her seatbelt and exiting the car.

"Are you a writer?" He asked in sudden excitement as the feeling in his legs returned, his voice muffled from remaining inside the car.

"Nope," Came her short reply.

"Producer?" He jumped out of the car, steadying himself and following after her.

"Nope," She repeated.

"Then what are you?" He struggled to keep up with his aunt, who at such an old age seemed to move faster than anyone he ever knew, no matter what she was using as transportation.

"I am a master thespian." She declared, raising her arm in the air dramatically as she waved her hand about, also dramatically.

"From _Star Trek_?" Skippy asked, looking at the outstretched hand to see if she was pointing at anything in particular, a bird or plane perhaps, after a few seconds he figured it was nothing.

"If your gonna make a reference kid, make sure you know what your referencing. No, I'm just your average actor, with slightly better looks." She laughed.

Skippy couldn't tell if she was being vain or just trying to assure herself that she wasn't some old has-been. "Have you been in anything _big_?" He continued to ask.

"I'm still working on that part kid." She dragged him into a tall building with hundreds of windows.

"Please stop calling me kid, my name's Skippy." He pointed at his chest as he ran to match her speed.

"Fine, Skippy was it?" She teased, stopping in front of a wooden desk at the end of the room; Skippy looked around, trying to get a better view then a piece of mahogany. Few people were seated around the room; three birds who were currently bickering, a pair of hippos getting ready to smooch, and two mice that were oddly shaped and deformed, he tried to keep from staring at any of them. "Yeah, I'm here to see Mr. Poit, Mr. Plain?"

"You mean Mr. Plotz?" She asked in a breathy voice that deserved a few creepy stalkers, or an extra job at an adult phone line.

"Yeah, that's it." Slappy had a tone of uninterested boredom that was easily detectable throughout the room, and possibly the entire state.

"And is this cutie your partner?" She asked, leaning over her desk to look at the small squirrel, who immediately hid behind his aunt in shy fueled fright.

"Partner? I wasn't told I would need a partner!" Her voice began rising and Skippy felt like running around the desk and hiding behind the nice secretary rather than his crazy aunt.

"The role calls for two squirrels that work well together, without a partner you can't go in there." The secretary pointed to the shining wooden doors to her left.

Slappy groaned in frustration and bent down on one knee, struggling to get into eye level with her young nephew. "Listen ki . . . I mean Skippy, you think you can do me a favor?" She put her hand on his shoulder, causing him to twitch, she looked hurt for a rather short moment but shrugged it off. "I need you to pretend okay?"

Skippy shook his head rapidly, "Pretend what?" He asked in fright.

"Just follow my lead okay?" Skippy gulped and, after a minute of silence, nodded. "Good, just listen to me and if we don't get the part, no big deal." He nodded, unsure over if it would really be taken so well when he failed horribly. Slappy turned back to the stunned secretary, "Fine, this is my partner Skippy."

"Please take a seat and we'll call you when it's your turn." She gestured to an empty row of chairs by a window.

"Wrong, he'll see us now." She said before grabbing Skippy's hand and dragging him through the wooden doors and into a world all too new for the young boy.

* * *

Skippy sat in the leather chair next to his manager, who had eagerly taken him back after so many years. They sat across from five other men also seated in rolling leather chairs, Saunters was seated directly in the middle. Skippy figured the chubby man either sat there for every meeting so he could be the center of attention, or just so he could intimidate whoever was in the room, Skippy made it his mission to be the exception. "So your pay is as follows, you are signed to do two seasons, and you are not allowed to do any other shows until we finish filming all episodes."

Skippy was still visiting old memories when they pulled him back to the real world; he glared at the chubby man in the middle, who was again wearing sunglasses. _Does he realize were inside?_Was a common thought for the squirrel. "Fine, I want the show to continue using the _Slap Happy Slappy _title, script approval, and each episode to be dedicated in her honor." He listed, repeating what he had said over the phone when he finally called them.

"Yes, that's all in the contract as agreed." The last man on the left said, pulling out the aforementioned papers.

Skippy reached over the table and grabbed the small sheets of paper, instantly handing them over to his manager. "We are so glad to have you aboard." Saunters said, hints of smug detectable, the men beside him all nodded eagerly in agreement, unaware of their boss's bragging intentions.

"I want to make one thing clear," Skippy said, pressing his elbows against the tabletop. "The second these two seasons are up I quit." He said, mimicking Saunters smile perfectly. The man beside him pushed the contract in front of Skippy and nodded in approval; Skippy, unable to forget what his aunt had taught him, started reading it himself, making sure everything met his own standards as well as the producers.

Two minutes of uninterrupted silence passed before Skippy signed the contract. "Welcome back to show business, kid." One of the men had said, though Skippy didn't bother paying attention to who.

"Don't bother, I won't be here that long." He muttered, pushing away from the table and walking out the door in a huff, not saying another word to the people in the room nor looking back at them.

Skippy dragged his feet against the carpeted hallway, unhappy about the recent selling of his soul. He continued to sulk all the way into the parking lot, bumping into various people along the way, most of whom asked what his problem was or something similar, he hadn't been paying all that attention really. The depressed squirrel rounded a corner, where he was suddenly knocked onto the ground by some unforeseen object. They hit the pavement in shock, Skippy shaking his head back and forth. "Watch where you're going!" He barked, voicing his anger at the executives into the poor soul that had crossed his path.

"Sorry," She said, picking herself up off the ground. Skippy looked up to see the most beautiful female squirrel he had ever seen offering her hand in a kind gesture; she had a green shirt and wore a ruby red skirt. It was plain to see she could pull off the christmas color theme better than any dream killer, probably due to her shapely figure; her fur was dirty blond and the top was tied in a ponytail.

"No, I'm sorry, not like you did anything wrong." He said, grabbing at the extended hand. "Just got out of a meeting with some man named Saunters and –" He began as she pulled him up.

"Say no more," She interrupted, yanking him up at a threatening pace in what seemed like excitement; he staggered forward, again bumping into her body, though this time he took a short time to enjoy it. "You wouldn't be the first person to hold a grudge against him." She explained

"What he do to you?" Skippy asked in curiosity, almost losing himself in those green colored eyes.

"He's the producer of my show - well not my show - I'm a secondary character on _Slap Happy Slappy. _Ever seen it?" She asked, smiling.

His heart stopped for a minute when he seen that smile, how it made every worry of his temporarily disappear. "Uh, not really." He answered. "I try to, but I'm not as big a T.V. person as I use to be."

"Too bad, we had the greatest lead star last season, though she passed away recently, I hear it was in her sleep though." She looked at the ground in sadness. "Now I hear their bringing in some new guy to replace her, you ask me it's just because they want to cash in on our success."

"Oh," Skippy muttered, debating on whether he should tell her or if she'd become unfriendly if he did.

"I bet you we get some two bit hack that can't even act to save his life." She sighed and looked around the lot. "Oh, I'm sorry, I haven't even introduced myself, I'm Jennifer." Again, she held out her hand and smiled coyly.

"I'm two bit hack that can't act to save my life." He said, shaking her hand; he didn't mean for it to sound funny or clever, but it came out that way and he hated it.

"Oh, oh!" She said with a small hint of embarrassment in her eyes, followed quickly by anger. "You have some nerve," She pushed him roughly, sending him back a few feet and almost tripping him over again. "You think you can just walk into a series after the lead dies?" Her voice was rising in both pitch and sound. "Did you even know about Slappy and her work or is this just another job for you?"

The attraction he had towards her disappeared and was replaced by the same thing that had over taken Jennifer, though to a mightier extent due to the combination of this and his recent meeting. "You have no idea what Slappy was to me!" His voice had increased, immediately rather then slowly over time. "She was the only family I had left!" He continued, knowing that the statement sounded a little to hallmark channel.

"Wait, family?" She asked, her anger vanished in a nano-second, Skippy's chest was heaving in anger but still the rapid change of her attitude was rather scary. "You must be Skippy, she talked about you a lot." She said, knocking him down from anger to minor annoyance. "She was so proud of you." She said, staring blankly into space. "Ugh, I . . . I'm sorry about that." She struggled to speak.

He took in a deep breath before smacking himself half-heartedly in the head. "No, don't worry about it. You were defending my aunt, so in some weird way I should be thanking you."

"So your taking up the spot for – "

"For her, I want to make her a household name again, even if she isn't around anymore." It sounded strange out loud, or at least to him, it must've to her as well because she was giving him a confused stare.

"That's sweet, she would have loved that." She mumbled, "I'm sorry I wasn't at the funeral, I heard about it yesterday actually." She looked around awkwardly for anything to keep her from eye contact.

"It's okay, if you'd like to know where she's buried I could tell you." He offered, finding that attraction to her returning.

"I'd like that," She jumped in shock for some reason or another. "Oh god, I'm sorry but I have to go or I'm gonna get fired!" She said, moving past him and almost breaking out in a sprint.

"Oh, alright." Skippy sighed in slight disappointment, it made her feel a little guilty, stopping her dead in her tracks and returning to him.

"If you're not busy, meet me at that diner down the street around nine. It's called Presto Festo, I want to know you a little better Skippy, your aunt really loved to talk about you." She turned back and restarted the sprint, leaving Skippy dumbfounded yet also a little excited. It took him a long while before he considered continuing to his car and home.

A silent drive home, Skippy constantly glanced at the time, _4:09, 4: 11, 4:13._ It seemed as if the clock was obsessed with tormenting him, and he could swear he heard some snickering coming from the dashboard after every glance. Nothing to do at home, he'd spent the last week cleaning the house, regretting letting it get so messy in his despair. His aunt would have killed him if he'd ever let his room get half as dirty as that house had, and while it seemed rather boring it also served as an easy way to forget certain things.

He pulled into the garage beside the tree, careful to leave a safe amount of distance between his and his aunt's car, which was covered with a dust protector, he was never going to drive it so he might as well keep it as clean as he possibly could. He took another minute to admire the car, the Dodge Viper, through its plastic sheet before shutting the garage door and entering the house, which wasn't as depressing as it had seemed two weeks ago.

Considering he had recently lost his only family member, and selling his soul to something that made the devil look like a puppy begging for food, an executive, he was actually feeling – dare he say – happy, well not happy, that was too big a word, rather he felt content. A slight smile on his lips as he passed a framed photo of his aunt on the mantle, one he had found during his overdrive cleaning state. He paused, one foot off the ground and hanging in the air, and stared into the eyes of his mentor and loved one. "You just wait aunt Slappy, when I'm done with this show, your name will be remembered by everyone with a television." He promised, shoving back tears as he walked into the kitchen, feeling slightly embarrassed at the feel good moment he just had with a framed photo.

A newspaper on the table he had no interest in earlier suddenly seemed like a good way to pass the time, and after pouring himself a glass of orange juice - the only drinkable thing in the fridge, aside from one of Slappy's prune juice containers, which was in the same exact category as undrinkable - he pulled out the chair, making himself comfortable. He had seen the headline on the front page, which was centered on Warner Brothers plan to continue the _Slap Happy Slappy _show with a new lead, as of yet unrevealed.

He skipped that, unconcerned about how W.B. was spinning the story or how they would pique viewers interest, rather he wanted something to draw his mind away from anything involving entertainment or the world of celebrities. As a newspaper in California, there wasn't much else besides celebrity gossip; an article on vegetable farming, a blurb on fishing. Skippy, unconcerned about who was dating who or what new drug was sweeping the entertainment world, sighed and crumpled up the newspaper, throwing it at the nearest trash can, it swirled around the top before falling onto the ground beside the can; Skippy grunted and rubbed his forehead, looking up at the clock above the oven.

"Five hours, now what?" He questioned to himself. "What would aunt Slappy do?" Sitting in her recliner and taking a nap didn't sound appealing at the moment, so he decided to ignore it. He pushed away from the kitchen table and rose from the chair; wandered into the living room, he began looking for anything to keep him occupied. _Watch more of her cartoons? _He thought after seeing a VHS box with his aunt taking up most of the cover.

Normally he'd tell himself how bad of an idea that was, but it was actually sounding pretty brilliant right now; if he was going to take over her role, he had to learn her old tricks, her moves, the little details that made Slappy Slappy. He probably knew more than any Slappy fan in existence, but that was nowhere near good enough. He had to be the seamlessly perfect copy of Slappy, from how she walked to how she threw her many explosives and this was the perfect time to analyze and breakdown her routine. He turned on the lamp beside the chair and settled into the recliner; taking in deep breaths to keep himself from breaking down when he would see Slappy.

He hit the play button and tried to keep from blinking.

**Four hours, fifty seven minutes, and eighteen seconds later:**

Wasn't hard to find the place, true to her word, it was right down the street from W.B. Studios. The retro look brought back memories of when his mother and father had taken him to a diner close to his house, weeks before the horrid accident that took them from his world. Skippy smiled at the memories and exited the car, locking the doors and continuing on foot into the diner. His eyes hurt from glaring at the television for four and a half hours, but he persevered and kept from rubbing at them.

The retro look outside carried over into the building, with bar stools and white floors, a counter with various memorabilia from the fifties to seventies: pictures of the stars of yesteryear, most of whom he didn't recognize besides the one of all four Beatles walking down Abbey Road, which seemed fitting considering that the jukebox in the corner was playing "_Happiness is a Warm Gun." _Losing interest on how the building was decorated, he moved on to who was decorating it.

Mostly families who wanted to experience the flare of the past decade, all of whom were sitting in the booths while the stools were taken up by older men looking for a convenient trip to their heydays. Slappy would have hated this place, or so he thought until he'd seen a black and white picture of her nailed to the wall with a signature and little note.

_Like the food, hate the theme.  
Signed Slappy Squirrel._

He could actually hear her voice while reading and wanted to get a copy for home. "I dragged her here one day after shooting; you'd be surprised how much of a fuss she put up." Said a familiar voice from behind him, he turned in delight to see the squirrel he had ran into earlier, a brown coat draped over her arm, wearing the usual waitress uniform with a red and white theme, she couldn't pull it off as well as her previous outfit though. Her hair was slightly messy, strands sticking out here and there.

"Actually, I wouldn't." He stifled a weak laugh. "She hated being reminded of the old days, unless it involved her of course." He wondered if that sounded a little rude to his deceased love one.

"Yeah, my grandparents were the same way." Jennifer didn't bother with holding back a small laugh."They'd have a fit if they knew I was working at a place like this." Skippy was certain he had the same look when he first set eyes upon the building. He waited for her to return from her thoughts; he'd hate himself if he'd interrupted her reminiscing. "Anyway, what do you want to do? We could stay here and eat or go for a walk or anything really?"

"It's up to you."

"I've seen enough of this place for the day," She grabbed the coat from around her arm and struggled to get an arm through.

"Here," Skippy grabbed the coat and held it open for the young woman.

"Thanks," She muttered, almost too quite to hear. "Let's go." She ordered before rushing to the door, obviously not to eager about what was to come. Skippy couldn't blame her, after all he wasn't looking forward to it either, but it did serve to pass time and keep him out of the house (something he desperately needed).

* * *

"All right, so you're living with your aunt, then what?" She asked as they walked down the brightly lit pier they had recently discovered close to the diner. It was small, and there wasn't much to see, few people were even there, and most of who were actual workers rather than customers. Lights were strung up on metal booths that had all been folded out an hour earlier, with white signs that advertised the nature of the games hanging somewhere on them. All of the games – saying there were many would be lying actually – had the same basic objective: whack this, shoot that, test your might or sight.

Neon lights that made the area look like one of those strip clubs in the poor districts were placed at every opportunity, it was funny in an inappropriate sort of way. "Then she took me to my first audition . . . well hers, she needed a partner and I was the closest person near her that she could tolerate." The night was starting to seem like a date, complete with Skippy paying for almost everything, but on the bright side she no longer hated him, and he occasionally found himself enjoying her comments. "She drags me into the room; it was unlike anything I've ever seen! A forest was standing in front of us and I wondered if we were really still inside. When I get closer I see it's actually a giant painting, not one of those kindergarten ones either." He waved his hands in the air as if painting a picture in the neon green light.

"So you acted in kindergarten?" She asked, finding that the interest in him she had been feigning earlier was slowly becoming real.

"No, I had stage fright." He said, she almost laughed, almost. "But long story short we got the roles and I got ice cream afterwards." He said as they passed by a couple with a woman in a little too much makeup, though she did go nicely with the previously established strip club setting.

"Did she do that every time you guys got a role?" Another question that made her interest more aware, she was hoping he hadn't noticed.

"Yeah, and every time we didn't, in the first two weeks with aunt Slappy I was scared she didn't like me. I thought she was putting up with me as some last request from my mother to a distant sister, but after awhile I knew she loved me. She rarely said it though; emotional things weren't really her strong points."

"Moving off subject for a moment, do you really think that acting in her role will get _her _any recognition?" Jennifer asked as she looked at the prizes to be won from each of the games of chance surrounding them, stuffed animals from the cartoons of yesteryear, even three that Skippy would have instantly recognized as the siblings Warner.

"I'm not really sure; if not then I'll have to try again."

"You're really devoted to this huh?" She asked, no longer caring about who knew of her interest.

"Yeah, it's the only reason I've gotten back into acting." He tried his best to keep from staring at some of the rather odd looking game runners.

"Why'd you stop anyway?" She stared at one of the odd looking game runners; he noticed this and admired her supposedly fearless – if somewhat rude – nature.

"I'm not really comfortable speaking about it." He explains.

"Consider it dropped." And to his surprise it really did drop from the conversation, not mentioned throughout the rest of the night, though there were instances where he could sense it on her mind.

"So what did you do after acting?" She asked as they neared the exit of the fair.

"Well school was about it, life became pretty bland. Not as bland as everyone else though, Slappy made sure of that by giving me the daily dose of hijinx. Let's see . . . I graduated early, was going to enroll in college close to home but with Slappy gone I don't think I could focus on school or work." They walked out of the park and onto the sidewalk, neon light free even. "What about you? Why acting?" He asked, shifting the focus on her so as not to seem selfish.

"My mom was a teacher and her mom was a teacher and my sisters are teachers, it's kind of a curse. I'm trying anything to break it, last year I was considering joining the circus." They turned left, walking back the way they came, though outside of the fair, free of the red light district theme in the park. "But then I remembered the clowns and immediately backed out of that decision." She laughed, from this point on time seemed to fly, reaching the car seemed like a millisecond, and driving her home seemed even shorter.

* * *

Hello faithful readers, or so I hope I have faithful readers as all chapter have been written beforehand.

As you've probably guessed, Jennifer is an original character, but don't count on a love blossoming as I have someone else in mind, can't say who but . . . well I'll just leave it at that.

Read, Review, Rock, Roll, basically if it starts with an R then feel free to do it.

Or as another option you could favorite, if it starts with an f then . . . well actually there's a few hurtful words that start with F so scratch that, just favorite or follow on that end.

Thanks for reading, and have a good night


	3. Chapter 3

**And We Proudly Present Skippy Squirrel!**

**Chapter 3**

**Reunion **

**Characters belong to Steven Spielberg; while Warner Brothers belongs to . . . well do I really need to explain that one?**

* * *

Slappy was a god, at least to the squirrel driving the car down an intersection; outside of school he was always standing by her side. The reason behind his idolization was plain and simple: she was the only thing in his life that loved him. Sure she was aggressive and a tad bit impulsive, but it was different around him; those crazy explosions were subtly smaller and more controlled, and the villains never got as close as they use to. Slappy had (slightly) cleaned up her act to accommodate the child; of course she'd deny this and chalk it up to old age.

He could always tell though.

And so he pushed himself to match her level of insanity, obviously he couldn't reach that, after all he was new to the world of destruction. But damn did he try, and at one point he was certain he could manage it. He carried some type of explosive with him whenever he was around Slappy, and constantly begged her to step up her game, even just a little. She'd say no, but honestly Skippy could talk her in to anything, which was why mere minutes later she'd loosen up and unleash her true best.

If he was going to act like Slappy then he was going to do it with the tour de force that she was known for, no matter how impossible it seemed. Skippy pulled into the dirt road leading to his house, glancing at the sky long enough to see a flash of light behind the clouds followed quickly by the sound of thunder. Honestly he was hoping for a thunder storm as the sound easily reminded him of dearly departed aunt Slappy, no matter how depressing the reminders may be.

Besides with everything that has and will happen to him, it was nice for the weather to portray his emotions so perfectly. Entering the garage and stopping directly beside Slappy's red Dodge Viper in its entire dust gathering glory, he opened his car door and stepped onto the cold cement ground beneath him. Nearly falling numerous times, he managed to take his eyes away from the red car long enough to make it outside and into the freezing rain that seemed to pick up in the few seconds he had been inside.

Branches on his house were shaking rapidly with the ever increasing wind; the rain was starting to feel like needles as they tapped against the ground. Normally Skippy would rush inside to avoid the soaking of his fur, but those days seemed so far behind him that they might as well have been another lifetime ago. Water was starting to form puddles around the yard and streams were running down hills, more thunder and lightning from the sky that seemed to comfort him in a weird way.

He opened the front door, flipping the light switch directly to his left and illuminating the spotless room. He was rather impressed with how well he'd cleaned it and wondered how Slappy would have reacted. "Skippy, you did a good job, but if you're hoping for more of an allowance you can forget it." He imitated as he hung the red jacket on a hook beside the door, unsure whether he should feel bad about his portrayal, no matter how right of one it was. He couldn't care less about what time it was, he just wanted to go to sleep, and if he was lucky never wake up

He made it to his room without any problems whatsoever, though as with his aunt's car, he stopped to look at Slappy's darkened and untouched room. He hadn't dared enter it since her passing, the covers remained sprawled out across the bed in messy heaps and dust was beginning to settle on her things. The squirrel knew it was an unappealing sight but didn't dream of closing that door, for it was as sacred to him as the Vatican was to a Christian. The room held one too many memories to just ignore it forever, but he wasn't ready for anymore trips down memory lane. He continued to his room and fell onto his cozy bed, letting slumber's sweet embrace take him away to a better place.

* * *

And here he was, not in some Disney film dreamland or some unbelievable happy world, nope, he was back in memory lane, a place that he was really starting to hate. He's being dragged by Slappy past the doors and into a wide area filled with men in black suits that made them seem governmental; one man stood out though, he was dressed in a blue suit, and was currently balding, but if that wasn't enough to make him noticeable, then it'd be his height, barely taller than Skippy himself, but certainly wider.

He was seven, he was scared, and in his mind there were the burning images of his parents. Nervousness, it was so easy to remember, probably because it was all he could currently feel; his aunt had unknowingly placed him in a game he had no idea of, but she had said it was no big deal if they got the part, something she would repeat for years to come. Questions ran through his mind; _Why are these people staring at me? s_tood out amongst the rest as one that reoccurred.

"Yes, you must be Miss Squirrel, thank you for joining us." The short man had said in an antsy tone. "Now dazzle or get out!" He barked immediately afterwards, making Skippy jump in fright.

He was surprised to see his aunt acting so calm, without any detectable emotion on her face. He knew that look, it was the same one she had when she was blasting down the interstate in her car, and it was the look of confidence that said she knew everything that could ever happen. He had only seen it only one other person, his mom, who always managed to keep cool under pressure; it was an amazing thing he hoped to learn some day, though whenever he asked Slappy to teach him it like she had so many wild takes, she'd smile and say 'it runs in the family kid, when you get it, you get it.'

_Thanks for the advice Mr. Miyagi._

A man in more casual clothes scampered up to Slappy and handed her a script, then gave one to Skippy, who could only look at it in wonderment. "Go on," Slappy nudged his arm; he nodded in reluctance and grabbed the papers, expecting it to burn his hand, or burst into flames itself. Luckily nothing in the room combusted, though he might have preferred that to reading in front of people. Eyes remain focused on him, and he is quickly learning to treasure the small moments where they switch their attention to his aunt beside him.

"Aunt Slappy, what am I supposed to do?" He whispered to her, unable to control the words, evidently the dream wanted things to go according to how they really happened, forcing him to feel and act as if he was still the sensitive and naïve child that had long since disappeared. Oh how he would have loved to hug aunt Slappy, to feel her warm fur and to tell her he loved her, but whatever controlled this plane of existence refused to give him such pleasure.

"Just read the piece of paper and act like we're at home, forget all these other people." She instructed him. "Ready?" she asked seconds later. Skippy – again – nodded reluctantly, but added a gulp to the repertoire this time.

He watched his aunt with wonder as she moved from left to right, spitting out one line after another with an unbelievable level of confidence. Slappy occasionally made a quick glance at her nephew, hoping she hadn't asked too much from him, but she had to give him credit for even agreeing to do this in the first place. Any other seven year old would probably shake their head and cry if they had to stand in front of people who they knew were judging them. "Skippy! You should have been asleep hours ago!" She said, throwing his name into the line so he'd know she was speaking to him.

Skippy leans from one foot to another, looking at the pages in his hand as they tremble with fear, similar to the rest of his body. "I . . . I know Slap . . . Slappy, but I can't sleep." He slowly eased into the part, but addressing Slappy without the title of aunt sounded to strange coming from him. "I keep hearing Santa's sleigh!" Nervousness was replaced with mild comfort.

"That's just the LAPD chopper." She responded, saying it so casually that Skippy couldn't keep from laughing. The words "cute" and "adorable" could be heard amongst the men as they began discussing his routine.

* * *

He woke up just when he was getting to the good part, all thanks to his ringing alarm clock on the nightstand. He slammed his hand on snooze and grudgingly sat up, prepared for a horrid day of boredom and sadness, with a possible dose of self-pity thrown in for fun. He ran his hand through the fur on top of his head, yawning. "Aunt Slappy!" He yelled out of instinct, as he had every morning since he was eight, though he immediately felt stupid for the calling of the dead, another part of him was hoping for an answer.

Obviously he knew he wouldn't get one. He sighed and made his bed, one of his many new chores that had come with being a home owner; among those were paying bills with the money in his bank account as well as "keeping house" as he'd recently learned it was being called. He turned and exited his room, making the traditional glance at Slappy's old bedroom and passing through the living room into the kitchen.

Something he immediately learned when he moved in was how much Slappy hated (and with all due respect, sucked at) cooking, in fact she had a room dedicated entirely to ordering takeout right next to the explosives closet. Luckily for her Skippy was surprisingly talented in this regard, especially for a seven year old, moving past macaroni and cheese to crème brûlée. It was his contribution to Slappy for keeping him out of a foster home, something he was incredibly afraid of. He never showed that fear though; he held that emotion in perfectly, it was the depression over his parents that refused to be pushed down. But he was trailing away and giving useless information with almost no relation to the plot at this time, besides being a great cook meant nothing if you didn't have anything to bake with.

The phone rang, interrupting his search for food; he closed the fridge door and reached for the ringing object. "Hello?" He answered, his voice revealing just how tired and hungry he currently was.

"_Hey Skippy." _Came the instantly recognizable female voice.

"Dot?" He asked with a sudden surge of energy, as if a bolt of lightning from last night had struck him in the chest.

"_I hope I'm not calling at a bad time." _Her voice was somber with no hints of joy whatsoever, and anyone who had ever met a Warner knew how rare and impossible that was.

"At this point I'd be impressed if you called at a good time." He meant it jokingly, but instantly regretted the words as Dot sounded sad enough. "Sorry." This was followed by an uncomfortable lull in which the only thing heard was almost unnoticeable static. "How have you been?" He asked, breaking the silence.

"_I just wanted to say how sorry my brothers and I are about Slappy, and about missing the funeral . . . really sorry." _She quickly blasted him with that response, honestly Skippy was too lost in his own world that day to even notice who was and was not at the funeral, in fact thinking about it made him realize that not one _"Animaniacs" _star had shown up. _"Skippy?" _Dot asked, wondering if the squirrel was still on the line.

"Huh?" Skippy asked, momentarily forgetting what they had been speaking of. "Ugh, that's alright Dot, I could never be mad at you . . . or your brothers." He instantly added.

She giggled slightly, bringing about hundreds of memories in a single millisecond. _"So I was just wondering if you'd like to meet me somewhere?" _Her voice returned to its lovely tone that once made him shiver whenever he heard it; in fact it still did as it sent a chill up his spine. _"So I can explain why we couldn't make it." _

"Sure!" He shouted . . . into the phone . . . really felt a twinge of embarrassment, but Dot laughed as she had sixteen point five seconds ago and sucked away any notification of the shout.

"_What are you doing right now?" _

Starving? Needing sustenance? "Nothing, just . . ." He hit a mental barrier, unable to finish the statement. "Nothing."

"_It's my turn to go to the grocery store, do you want to meet me outside the studio and come with?" _Skippy nodded a nanosecond before she finished the question.

"Sure." He repeated, this time keeping it under shouting level.

"_Great! I'll see you in an hour." _

"Definitely!" More shouting, he made a mental note to work on that with future phone calls to the cute Warner.

"_Great, maybe I'll have my hearing back by then too!"_ She shouted into the phone, though he could tell it was meant in a playful teasing manner.

"Alright, I get your point." He laughed – actually laughed. The first time since the passing of Slappy and he was feeling genuine happiness, a hint of guilt but not enough to bring him down from cloud seven, yes seven as he was not yet at nine. "You'll definitely see me soon." He asked in an exaggerated tone of relaxation, as if he was trying to bore someone to death.

"_Better."_ The phone clicked, leaving nothing but silence.

Luckily she hadn't called before his meeting with the executives; otherwise he'd have no time to clean himself up. The weeks after Slappy's funeral had put him in such a bad state that he had completely given up on hygiene and bathing, so much so that it had taken him three hours worth of showers to get every knot out of his fur. Another plus side was that the color was coming back to him, moving away from the dull brown and back to his normal rust colored shade. An hour seemed like more than enough time to get prepared, and a trip to the store for groceries seemed like a nice coincidence for him to find food.

* * *

Granted they had never really known Slappy outside of the show, but she was a role model to all three Warners, and not being able to attend the funeral and console their old friend over his loss was more than depressing. Dot closed her cell phone, a cheap model bought by Yakko for her birthday, and returned to her brothers in the tower. Wakko was in the left corner, arraigning some kitchen objects in a strange manner, obviously preparing another grand device that showed how smart he really was. Yakko was sitting at the wooden table beside him, reading a newspaper and making comments to himself that made no sense to anyone else in the room.

"I talked to Skippy." She said, attracting the attention of her brothers.

"Is he mad?" Wakko asked, slightly tilting his head to the left as he looked at Dot, curiosity visible in his eyes as always.

"How's he holding up?" Asked Yakko, the concern in his voice more than obvious.

"He's not mad, and I think he's okay. He's meeting me outside in an hour," She walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. "Helping me get groceries!"

Yakko suppressed a wicked little smile; it had always been painfully obvious Skippy had a crush on his little sister, obvious to everyone except her. If anything could cheer up Skippy then it'd be spending time with Dottie Warner. He bit his tongue though, a practice he was never particularly good at, and instead searched for a better statement to give. "Tell him if he ever needs anything he's always welcome here!"

Skippy was their closest friend, being the only non-Warner to keep up with their craziness. It was all so he could be close to Dot, which was probably a good strategy for someone who didn't go around kissing every beautiful woman they'd seen. Of course if Skippy's plan was to bide his time and climb up the friendship ladder, then it failed; _"Animaniacs" _was cancelled and they went separate ways. Yakko crossed his fingers and mentally wished the squirrel luck in getting somewhere today.

"You think she'll figure it out?" Asked Wakko in his scouse accent, carefully tying a long string to the antenna of a remote controlled car.

"I'm sure it'll hit her eventually, after Skippy tells her that is." Yakko glanced at his brother's strange invention with a sense of astoundment. "Whatcha' building now?"

"Need to sharpin' my pencil." He simply muttered, placing a single domino in front of a little rubber ball.

"Right, nice thinking Da Vinci." Yakko smiled at his odd little brother before returning to the newspaper in front of him.

Fifty minutes of silence passed between the Warner brothers, in that time Wakko finished and tested the series of gadgets that all served to make his pencil just a little less dull, and had already begun on his next one. Dot walked out of the bathroom, looking exactly as she had when she walked in. If either brother told her this, she'd immediately turn around and walk straight back in, so they did the obvious; they'd flatter her. "I like the way you're wearing your ears." Yakko states.

"You smell nice." Mutters Wakko.

"You really think so?" Dot asked, blushing. The boys nodded, mentally patting the other on the back for a job well done.

"Skippy won't know what hit him." Yakko chuckled, obtaining a confused glance from Dot. "Don't forget the eggs." She nodded, slamming the tower door behind her.

The room is almost completely silent now, save for the occasional remarks made by Yakko and an occasional sound from Wakko's newest device. It remains this way for twenty minutes, until the youngest brother breaks it. "I'm hungry." Wakko says. Yakko, unable to resist that urge to always help his siblings, quickly rises from the chair and walks into the kitchen in an attempt to find lunch.

Dot jumps off the ladder, looking left and right for her squirrel escort. When she doesn't catch head or tail of Skippy, she checks the time on her phone, seeing that's it's only been fifty one minutes. She continues to check her phone every five seconds, almost like clockwork. So busy looking at her phone, she fails to notice red jacketed Skippy approach her from behind. Remaining silent, he takes slow strides towards her, absorbing everything from her voluptuous figure to her wonderful perfume.

Finally right behind her, he slowly places his hand on her shoulder, causing her to shriek and jump in fright. Skippy jumps as well, surprised by her reaction but not letting it take the humor out of the situation. He laughs as Dot turns around, giving him an infuriated look of annoyance and punching him in the shoulder. Thankfully she starts laughing too, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace, something Skippy significantly enjoyed.

* * *

So sorry for the long time without an update, but life's been pretty . . . horrid lately. I have more chapters written, but am searching for a beta to proof-read.


	4. Chapter 4

**And We Proudly Present Skippy Squirrel!**

**Chapter 4**

**Reunited and It Feels Oh So Good**

**Disclaimer: Don't own this, don't own that. I own the plot though, which is something.**

* * *

"Remember when you and Slappy did an entire episode set to the music of _The Nutcracker Suite_?" Dot asked, a smile painted across her face as they make the walk to his car, parked neatly against a curb outside of the studio in a puddle of mud from the previous night's storm. Said storm seemed to do a reasonable amount of damage on the few unprotected sets outdoors. Some people could be heard shouting profanities at some stagehand that apparently had control of the weather if he was getting it so badly.

"One of my favorite episodes," He declared, pushing her aside to avoid one of the many puddles surrounding them. "When the cast was switched . . . and we met, that's near the top of the list too."

Dot shook her head, laughing. "That ten second segment?"

"I actually got to talk to you afterwards, you acknowledge my existence." Reaching the car, Skippy opened the passenger door and gestured for Dot to hop in. Waiting a few seconds to be sure Dot and all her limbs were safely inside, he slammed the car door and walked around the bumper to the other side. "That was a pretty nice day."

"It was ten seconds Skippy, we had no lines between each other whatsoever."

"I met you, which was good enough for me." He laughed, stepping over the mud and jumping into the car. Whatever attracted him to Dot so many years ago was obviously still there, and it served as an excellent way to forget anything - and everything - that wasn't turning out right, say life. A drug he couldn't get enough of seemed to sum up the sensation he got pretty accurately. For the next ten minutes Dot spoke of everything she could think of, skipping no details on the life of her and her brothers, who judging by the stories had changed in absolutely no way other then height and appearance.

"Yakko's starring in a new sitcom next fall and Wakko scored a genius level intellect on some IQ test last year." She began messing with the radio as she spoke. "We took him to an all-you-can-eat buffet to celebrate, but they kicked us out after he swallowed all three turkeys and the five hams."

"Same old same old then?" Skippy asked, examining his rearview mirrors as he pulled into the next lane.

Dot moved from the radio to the air-conditioner, nodding her head in rhythm to the song currently playing on the station, her ears slightly bouncing with her. "Some things never change Skippy." She explained, looking through his measly C.D. collection.

"Maybe for you Dot," He said, feeling dangerously close to reentering that emotional place of his. One look at Dot was enough to keep him calm and relaxed which was another obvious sign of his attraction to the girl. He had to tell her eventually, and this was probably one of the best opportunities he could ask for. Even if life was the model example of living hell, Dot seemed to brighten him up, which wasn't exactly news to him.

Sadly he had more confidence when he thought he could do it rather than say it, what followed was the opening and closing of his dry mouth. It was at this moment that Skippy vowed to reveal his feelings to the Warner sister sometime today, no matter how much it frightened him, he just needed a little more time to work up the courage.

"What's with all the '80s music?" She asked, cycling through each disc at lightning speed.

"Is there anything I can help you find? Cause if you're looking for the Ark of the Covenant, I left that at home." Of course now talking was easy.

"I'll remember that if I ever need to melt a Nazi's face." She said so casually, as if she was completely serious.

"Fair enough," Skippy shrugged, letting her return to her snooping. "Aunt Slappy always said music wasn't like it use to be, those belonged to her before . . . well you know." The statement was more than enough for Dot to cautiously return the objects to their proper places, clenching her hands into fist as they returned to her side. "It's not like they're going to burst into flames, Dot. You can look through them." He clarified, finding it rather ironic considering his treatment of both the house and car of Slappy's. "Anyway, she always played that music and it just kind of grew on me."

"So you're getting back into acting?" She asked, rather suddenly and out of nowhere.

"No," He said instantly, obviously out of habit. "Well sort of . . . it's complicated." Struggling to explain, he took a deep breath. "If I can get Slappy some mention as a great actress then it'll be enough for me."

"We know how great she was, isn't that enough?" Dot asked, confused.

Skippy looked in his rearview mirror before pulling into the superstore parking lot, "I wish it was Dot, I really do, but it's not. She was always shadowed by Bugs and Daffy, there's nothing I can do about that. But if I can even get this show into syndication then maybe I won't feel so . . . so –"

"Useless." She finished. He nodded in agreement, turning to face her as the car turned silent. "You don't really believe that do you?"

"Why shouldn't I? I didn't save Slappy." He did his best to sound cool and calm rather than sad and pathetic, though he was quite sure he was failing horribly. The ten seconds it took Dot to reply were unbelievably long and awkward, at least to him.

"She fell asleep Skippy, unless you have some physic foresight there was nothing you could have done." Dot argued, fighting the urge to slap the squirrel upside his head. "Sometimes bad things just happen, no matter what you do. With the lifestyle Slappy lived you should be thanking god she went so peacefully."

"Thank god? What god do I have to thank at this point? My parents are dead, my aunt is dead, and I'm the last of my entire family." Normally talking about the bleakness of his family line was blocked with some tears here and there, but now it was just filled with anger and hatred. "Why is it Bugs and Daffy get to live forever and we keep getting older?" He asked, calming just a little more with each passing second. Before Dot could even begin to attempt an answer, he gave up. "It doesn't matter at this point, all I know is that by doing this show I can at least try to keep our name alive. Besides I have nothing better to with my life anyway." He explained as he exited the car, before Dot could get another word in . . . or slap him as hinted at by the look on her face.

Needless to say she - and her look - followed him outside. "Skippy how – "

"Dot, I really don't feel like talking about life right now and religion isn't exactly my favorite topic. Can we just spend some time together; I haven't seen you in so many years and the last thing I want to do is argue with you." He begged, black eyes pleading. She couldn't help but smile and nod her head, letting the argument drop for the time being. Skippy held back a smile of his own, knowing full well how persuasive his eyes could be, and how fun it was to use them.

* * *

"Good job in there Skippy!" Slappy complimented as they walked through the studio lot back to the car.

"But I messed up aunt Slappy, I kept stuttering and forgot my place on the script." He said, trudging five feet behind her. His ears were burning as he knew the team of men back inside were discussing his faults and laughing at his mistakes.

"I don't care about that." She explained, lifting him into her arms as either a sign of affection or as a method of getting to the car quicker. "You were scared but you still tried, I'm proud of you Skippy." She gripped him tightly as they passed a large yellow water tower. "And I will never ask you to do anything like that ever again." She assured.

"Aunt Slappy?" He was feeling a little odd with the comfort he was getting from being held, but it eventually passed.

"Yeah kiddo?" She replied in the sweetest voice, something he thought impossible from the violent woman, it was reminiscent of his mother in many ways. In fact a lot of what Slappy was doing was reminding him of his dearly departed mom, from the looks she had given to the way she was carrying him.

"When you hit the evil wolf with that mallet, where did it come from?" He asked, slowly easing into resting his head on her shoulder.

"From my purse," She stated oh so simply, fighting the urge to correct her nephew on the nature of the wolf.

"But a mallet couldn't fit in there." The young squirrel replied.

"It's called hammerspace, didn't your mom ever teach you about it?" He took a moment to think about any conversation with the word hammerspace used between him and his parents, speaking in full confidence she had not. "Well that's not surprising, your mom and I were never close, she'd never want you to learn anything even remotely related to me. Hammerspace is a bag we can pull anything out of, no matter the size, it's a reality bending trick few 'toons can even attempt to learn." Now she seemed to be bragging, and from the display earlier she had the right to.

"Could I learn it?" He asked, watching people in strange costumes fighting each other, a camera capturing their every movement.

"I'm sure I can teach you a thing or two if you'd like, don't get your hopes up though. Some people need years of practice before they can even attempt this stuff."

Obviously he'd been to excited to hear the part about patience, but he was seven and excitement tended to do that. "Can we start after we get ice cream?" He bounced out of her arms, landing firmly on the ground.

"Ice cream, who said anything about ice cream?" Slappy watched as her nephew jumped up and down beside her, suddenly full of energy.

"Please aunt Slappy," He ran in front of the gray squirrel and pleaded, his hands in front of his chest with his fingers laced. His mom had always said he could talk anyone into anything if he used his eyes, though he had only ever tried it on his mother and father. There was no doubt in his mind that she'd give in, especially since he just performed (poorly) in front of so many people for her.

Something – she didn't know what – was keeping her from saying no. "Alright, we'll get ice cream." She was starting to see the upside of motherhood, odd to think that just a few weeks ago kids scared her. Then again, if fate had been kinder she would have had a son or daughter of her own a little over forty years ago, during her first few years in acting.

* * *

They each produced a list as they entered the comfortably air-conditioned building, greeted by some eighty year old man as he gestured to the carts on his left. Skippy nodded and thanked the man as Dot grabbed the closest one to her. "So what's first on your list?" Skippy asked, glancing at the signs above each lane as he pushed the cart. The linoleum white floor was moderately clean, with a small scuff mark every now and then being the only noticeable imperfection.

"At least eight frozen pizzas," She pointed to aisle seven, clearly labeled the frozen foods section.

"Wakko?" He asked with certainty.

"Of course, you think I could keep my figure if I ate that stuff?" She asked, taking a step back to show off her various curves. Skippy enjoyed drooling over her body without fear of getting caught and labeled a pervert. "Alright, any longer and I'll have to charge you." She joked, walking ahead with a risen self-esteem.

"Vain . . . but true." He shrugged and followed close behind.

An hour of perfect harmony passed while they finished off Dot's list, which consisted mostly of vast quantities of junk food and took up a lot of carts, so much so that it would take up to four paragraphs to list everything. Luckily Skippy was a pro in hammerspace techniques, and Dot had basic knowledge of it to help out. They were able to load it into one paper bag and place it in the trunk of his car with absolute ease. "So why was it important that we used paper and not plastic?" She asked as they walked straight back inside.

"Well plastic reshapes itself when an item is placed into it, while paper – if set perfectly flat on a surface – stays in the exact same form. It's easier to use hammerspace if we have an understanding of the width and length of an object rather than a constantly fluxing one." They passed Vincent, the seventy-nine year old veteran who served as their constant greeter.

"No wonder you graduated early," She stated, placing an arm around his shoulder. "But how does Wakko do it with a bag?"

"Wakko's a genius, I'm sure he can calculate everything about that bag whenever he needs it. I've always wanted to ask him about that. Besides, it's not impossible to use hammerspace with a shifting object, it's just harder." He took a moment of silence to enjoy how close Dot was to him.

"Slappy was a great teacher, wasn't she?" Dot slowly inched closer to him, enjoying the feeling as much as Skippy was.

"Of course, I have a lifetime's worth of information inside my brain and it's all thanks to her and . . ." He stopped, not wanting to go through all the explaining that would come with the truth. "And her great teaching abilities." Not a lie but certainly not where it was originally going, when Dot just nodded he patted himself on the back for the pro avoidance maneuver.

A few minutes passed as they wandered aimlessly through the store, enjoying the closeness of the other to much to notice going down aisle after aisle after aisle then repeating the process. "Aren't we going to get your groceries?" She asked, much to his dismay as it meant the moment couldn't continue. He fumbled around for the list with his free arm, the one not draped over Dot's shoulder. He knew full well were the list was, but enjoyed stalling too much to produce it quickly. Of course this couldn't go on forever, and when he was certain he got the most time out of it he quickly "found" the list.

"Wait, is that in alphabetical order?" She asked, checking over every item repeatedly. "You do your grocery shopping alphabetically?"

He nodded, "Is there any other way to do it?" What followed was either a pity laugh or an actual one, either way it was heavenly to him. "I was going to get it laminated but didn't have the time."

"I love you Skippy," She said through the laughter, causing his heart to skip a beat, or seven. All in all he couldn't ask for a better moment to present itself to make his move, and so - using a great deal of mental prowess - he came up with the most suave and sophisticated plan of action imaginable.

"_Dot, I'd like to apologize for what I'm going to do in the next three seconds." Before she could even utter a confused response, he swept her off her feet. _

_One_

_He stared into her eyes, sensing fright and exhilaration. She clearly had no idea of what was happening. _

_Two_

_Slowly he leaned in . . . closer . . . closer. At some point she must have caught on, starting to lift her head towards him. _

_Three_

_Their lips met until fireworks could be heard in the background amongst the cheering from the impressed fans. _

Of course it didn't go so well outside of his mind. "Skippy?" Dot began to shake him back and forth in worry, confused as to why he stopped walking. In a nanosecond he grabbed her by the shoulders and brought her closer to him, a surprised squeak was the only thing to come out of her mouth before they met. For a moment all she could recognize was the shock of all that had happened, once she processed it she was able to both enjoy and contribute to the moment. The grocery list in Skippy's hand fell to the ground, trampled by several feet of the fellow shoppers.

They separated when the need for air became too great. "So . . . what do you think?" He asked between breaths, a large smile on his face to show how happy he was.

"Too much tongue." She replied, slightly bruising his ego. He looked out of the corner of his eyes for anything that could keep him from looking at hers. "We'll have to work on that." She said before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him back in. It was certainly one of those Hollywood moments, where – for one instant – everything fell into place. After the initial making-out period, they continued to shop for food items, which consisted of mostly guessing with the loss of his list. Skippy was too busy enjoying himself to even make the effort to check what he was getting. In fact if Dot wasn't there to point things out he would have gone home with two live lobsters and a hermit crab named Terry.

Arriving back at the tower a mere two hours later with a single paper bag in hand, things seemed to be running smoothly. A discussion in the car confirmed the relationship, and there was a nice amount of hand holding as well. Upon climbing the ladder and entering the house, the Warner Brothers were either gone or in one of the hundreds of other rooms, giving the two a nice dose of privacy. "So let's pick up where we left off." Dot said reaching into the paper bag and bringing out four large pizzas and a gallon of ice cream, Skippy did the same. The kitchen was surprisingly normal, considering the owners of the house. Nice and clean, with a table in the center and a booth in the left corner.

"Right, I thought we had everything figured out though." He said holding up two loafs of bread for Dot to point out there designated place.

"Yakko's in fridge, the other in Wakko's cupboard." She opened the freezer and started placing everything in its rightful place. "About us, yes, but if you will recall three hours back we were having a nice little debate on your low self-worth. You used that trick with your eyes to make me drop it, remember?" His mouth was gaping as she finished the statement. "What, you think I don't know about the cute eye trick? You're looking at the master of cute." She bragged gleefully.

"Wouldn't it be mistress of cute?" He asked, getting over the fact that his eyes had at least one person they couldn't affect. No, his mind went into overdrive and produced a plan of segueing the conversation, if Dot would only take the bait.

"Nah, sounds like some bondage fetish." She continued digging food out of the bag and placing them into one of three cabinets, each marked with the name of one of the siblings. "I'm not into that."

"Too bad, that's my favorite kind." He said, wrapping his arms around Dot's waist as she tried to move from one half of the kitchen to the other, proud that he'd known her so well and that she couldn't resist a good setup.

"I pegged you more as a foot man." She ruffled the fur on top of his head playfully, breaking free of his grasp.

"A foot near that area is just asking for trouble." He returned to helping her, finding that the bag wasn't even near a quarter of the way empty. "I have to tell you Dot, I missed the banter between us." He couldn't believe he'd manage to turn a lecture about his self-loathing into a series of jokes.

"Me too, now back to that argument," A smug smile appeared on her lips and all he could think about was how much he loved it. "What was it you said? Oh right, 'I have nothing better to do with my life anyway'." She mimicked surprisingly well.

"Wait, if you knew I was using the eye trick then why did you go along with it?" He asked, out of ideas for how to prolong the inevitable, especially considering Dot's inescapable persistence.

"You needed a break, so I decided to drop it." She sat on the table, an inch or two away from the paper bag. "Now that we're . . . well . . . together, I need to be honest and give you a reality check. Call it a girlfriend's obligation."

Skippy slowly pulled out a chair, the one closet to Dot. "Okay, go on."

"Why not go to college, you already graduated from high school."

"And waste everything Slappy taught me? No, no I can't do that." He shook his head back and forth. "She gave me every trick she knew, I can't just waste them like I've been doing for the past years. I can't even remember the last time I used explosives or dropped an anvil on someone's foot."

"So because she taught you some tools of the trade, you have to complete her life's dream?"

"It was the only thing she wanted, and it had to take the backseat when she took me in."

"Are you actually blaming yourself for this? I swear you can be the biggest idiot sometimes, Slappy had a good life and you were one of the reasons why it -"

"A good life? Please, aunt Slappy and I had a curse; it runs through the family blood." He interrupted, "Slappy had one dream throughout her life, and no matter what happened or how bad life was treating her she always had the same goal. Now I'm the only one who can even try to make that happen, I owe her."

"How bad could life have been for Slappy that you need to drop everything for her?" She shouted at him, voice cracking slightly. By this point the bag of food on the table was forgotten, it might as well have been completely invisible.

He took another deep breath, "It was nineteen fifty, and aunt Slappy had just moved to California looking for her big break. She had no talent in cartoon physics, but she was a great actress. Sadly, back then all people wanted to see from 'toons were wild and crazy cartoons that had very little dialogue and more zany antics."

* * *

So here is another chapter, if you found a mistake in spelling or grammar please P.M. me so I can fix it.

I'd just like to thank some people that have been beside me on the road so far.

Classicsrule, Nate Collins, VulpineSnow, and acosta perez jose ramiro. Thanks for being here from the start guys, you really help motivate.


	5. Chapter 5

**And We Proudly Present Skippy Squirrel!**

**Chapter 5**

**Slappy's Love**

**Yay, I've bought the rights to Animaniacs just so I can stop righting these disclaimers. Enjoy the story and tune in on May 5****th**** to see this as a T.V. movie! Hopefully you can tell that this is sarcasm, I just wanted to voice my hatred of writing about not owning anything, ironically I did it by putting more effort into typing up basically a complicated way of saying that very thing. Odd, right? Anyway, this seems to be getting a little rambly and I'm willing to bet I've lost more than half of the readers because of this so . . . **

**Enjoy the story.**

* * *

"Out!" The man ordered, pointing to the door behind her. "You'll never be hired in this town!" He continued shouting, his pudgy face going red. Slappy ran out of the room in fear that he'd actually explode from all the anger.

"Careful or ya' might have a stroke!" She shouted through the closed doors, muttering at least seven profanities under her breath that cannot be typed out if one wanted to maintain a T rating. "Fat son of a bitch!" She yelled, obtaining the attention of everyone in the waiting room. Stomping all the way outside and partially down the sidewalk, she groaned in exasperation. Ten auditions and not one person that didn't yell at her, nine of whom even went as far as calling her useless.

An unbelievably long hour later and sitting at one of the cafés that was still affordable for her, she mulled over her current situation. "No money, no family or friends to turn to, forced to eat in a god-awful café. Great Slappy, just great, you've really made a name for yourself." She slammed her head on the table and closed her eyes, nearly falling asleep until a blonde waitress with a smile the size of Newark dropped a plate in front of her.

"Enjoy!" She shouted through a voice that must've taken one too many intakes of helium, Slappy guessed she was the long lost member of _Alvin and the Chipmunks._

"I will!" Slappy mocked, unable to get her voice as high, she thought she did a pretty decent job of the impersonation nonetheless. "Maybe dad was right, should have just stayed home and became a house-wife." She began chewing on what could only be described as blue and green bacon that had been stirred in mayonnaise and dipped in depression.

It tasted even worse.

She dropped it back on the plate, afraid that if she held it any longer it would melt her hand off and pushed the dish to the other side of the table, slamming her head back down. "Of course no one's going to hire a 'toon that doesn't even know how to defy gravity, I should just pack up and go home." She muttered, repeatedly banging her head. Snickering at the table beside her drew both attention and anger. "Something funny to you?" She asked, more or less shouting.

Turning to face the ridiculer, she was greeted with what she currently referred to as a piece of eye candy; a muscular brown squirrel with piercing green eyes and a small hint of blonde at the tip of his head. "So you're plan was coming to California and becoming an actress, and yet you have absolutely no concept of cartoon theory?" He threw a few dollar bills on his table and stood up, stretching and yawning as he prepared to leave. "Well if it's any consultation you've made me laugh." He turned to the exit and walked out, laughing dramatically the entire time.

Slappy wouldn't dare tolerate it, pushing away from the table and nearly sprinting after him. "You think I'm just going to let you talk to me like that and walk away?" She ran in front of him, jabbing a finger at his chest repeatedly. "Excuse me for wanting to break the stereotype that all 'toons had to be about was senseless violence."

"You're lying, only saying that because all that "senseless violence" as you called it is out of your reach, right love?"

"You've ate the toxic waste at that dump one too many times if you think I'm jealous." She crossed her arms in front of her chest, closed her eyes and pointed her chin skyward.

"I've lived here long enough to know when I'm being lied to, and you dear are lying through your teeth." He pushed her aside and continued his walk down the sidewalk, not a care in the world from the looks of it. Slappy followed close behind him, prepared to lunge at the man and – as she'd worded it to her seven year old nephew – kick his face in. "You wouldn't be following me if I wasn't getting to you." He said, looking both ways as he crossed the street.

"Alright fine, maybe I am a little jealous. But what about you, can you honestly say you have no anger towards Bugs or Mickey?" She continued to follow him, a foot or so behind.

"No, but I don't pretend to be fine with it like you. Besides I could have been just as big as they are." He declared, increasing his pace with each step in an attempt to escape the pursuing girl.

"Now look who's lying, if you could have been famous then why aren't you?" She asked, still just a foot behind no matter how fast the man was moving.

"No one wanted to hire me, said that they had one too many male stars these days." He stopped instantly, turning to face Slappy just when she ran into him, knocking them both onto the sidewalk. "Will you get away from me!" He shouted into her ear, pushing her aside and quickly rising to his feet. "What do you want?" He began brushing the dirt off his fur.

"So the only reason you aren't famous is because you're a man?" She grabbed onto his arm and pulled herself up.

"That's what I said." He pulled his arm away in what could only be described as disgust, treating her hand the way she had treated the "food" back at the cheap little café.

"So you must know some cartoon physics." She ignored his look of disgust and began brushing off the cheap purse with the strap over her left arm.

"The basics; hammerspace, gravity deviance, increased durability and stamina." He enjoyed bragging, if only slightly. "I picked up a few things over the years, but its potential isn't exactly being fully utilized."

"Could . . . can you . . ." She was never used to asking for help, especially from world class pricks like this guy, but when her only other option was crawling back to her parents she was more than willing to beg. "Will you show me how to pull off some of those tricks?"

"Why on Earth would I want to do that for? All you have done is annoy me to no end!" He shouted, gaining the attention of anyone who wasn't already staring at them.

"And all you've done is insult me over and over again. It's like one of those cliché sitcom situations where two people that can't stand each other are put into some unbelievably bad-written predicament." She was really starting to hate herself, but she really couldn't deal with her parents anytime soon. "Please?" She put as much heart into it as she possibly could, and it absolutely sickened her.

"No!" He shoved her aside and walked away. Slappy wouldn't take no for an answer and ran at him, tackling him to the ground. "Agh, get off!" He groans, the left half of his face pressed against the sidewalk.

"This is how desperate I currently am, and in twenty seconds I'll probably get the urge to kick your face in."

"What's wrong with you?" He asked, face pressed even harder against the cement.

"I'm having a bad week here, and I have to say that this is probably the best thing I've done since l left my hometown." She continues to push him into the ground, confused as to why he doesn't use those amazing abilities he bragged about. People glance but continue walking, minding their own business, the only thing Slappy liked about this town.

"Fine!" He shouts, obviously in some form of pain. "Just get off me!" She complies, thankful he gave in because she would probably have given up within another ten seconds. He struggles to his feet, coughing as he tries to catch his breath.

"Why didn't you just pull some trick and escape?" She asked, receiving a gesture from the man that had usually been interpreted as "hold on".

"I said I knew how to do some things, not that I could do them well." He continues to cough until Slappy smacks him hard in the back.

"Alright, beggars can't be choosers I guess. So I was thinking we start with something simple and work our way up." She explains, pulling on his arm and leading him in whatever direction she was facing. "Maybe anvil dropping or dynamite throwing, obviously how to outsmart the villains and we can't forget about hammerspace." She continues to ramble, forcibly dragging him across the street.

"If you want me to teach you even one thing you'll have to shut up!" He shouts, pulling his arm away from her.

"Fine, but if you even to try to pull one over on me it's your head!" She threatens, gaining the attention of almost everyone on the street. Odd considering no one even bothered to ask her why she had tackled him earlier.

"Fine!" He stomps the rest of the way to his measly apartment down the block, Slappy isn't bothering to hold back a rather large smile.

* * *

That was what? Two months ago? Yeah, that sounded about right. Of course that look on Morgan's face was unforgettable; obviously he had expected her to give up from the objective being too hard. "If learning these things were so easy then there would be way too many talent-less hacks making cartoons. Out of every one hundred toons, there's only going to be one that's any good at it." He'd state every other hour. "You need dedication and strong emotions to actually pull these off."

"So how do you do it?" She'd tease, receiving glares of annoyance from her new teacher. The oddest thing about it though was how much she found herself enjoying these glares, how much fun it was to tease and banter with him, and how attracted she was to every aspect about him. "So I'm officially out of money." She explains while they sit on the grass outside his apartment complex after another long day of learning hammerspace.

"Now what will you do?" Morgan falls back onto the grass.

"I don't know what my options are? Sleep in a hobo camp, prostitute myself for money and shelter, the sky's the limit." She jokes, knowing full well what her male counterpart is is going to say.

"If you promise not to wreck the place then you can sleep on my couch for a week or two." He offers, secretly hoping she would agree to it. He didn't know when he had developed any affection to the bossy woman who had shoved his face into those dirty streets, but they were there and he couldn't deny it.

"Thanks," She leans over and kisses his cheek, which is followed nanoseconds later by a slight peck on the lips that turned into something more. Needless to say their tongues eventually played a part in the kiss, and just like the shouting from their first meeting people began to stop and glance before quietly moving on.

* * *

"I knew they'd hook up." Dot claims, leaning onto the table.

"Yeah right," He waves a hand in the air.

"It was so obvious!"

"When I first heard this story that was a huge twist." He explains.

"Woman can pick up on romantic tension easier than men can, plus the name of the chapter is "Slappy's Love"."

"Let's go to the next year," He smirked and leaned back in the chair, looking at the ceiling and seeing what seemed to be a paintball warzone, with splotches of green and blue everywhere, he ignored them and continued with the story. "Things were great between aunt Slappy and Morgan, they clashed on almost everything but I imagine they enjoyed it. Anyway, the next big thing to happen with aunt Slappy was being casted in her first major role. The pay still wasn't all that great though, in fact it was probably only ten more dollars more than the usual minor ones."

"Wait, why are you jumping so far ahead? Morgan's really not having time to develop character, was there anything important that happened to him?"

"No, he really didn't change any."

"It just seems lazy to skip so much just so you don't have to explain every little detail."

"I'm telling it how aunt Slappy told me." Skippy explained, "Besides we already have two original characters, one of which has been in only one chapter and appeared to be a love interest. You know how long it would have taken aunt Slappy to tell me all about Morgan anyway?"

She shakes her head, "Okay, continue please."

* * *

"Fifty big ones," Slappy held the check over her head in a victory pose, shouting joyfully so the entire world could hear . . . or at least the block.

"Aside from Honey I think you're one of the only female 'toons to ever be casted in the main role." Morgan explained, bringing her arms down. "You might want that in your purse, this neighborhood has a reputation of misfortune." Slappy did as advised after a quick glance around.

"So now what?"

"You've got money why not spend it on something?"

"I'm saving it." She explained, grabbing his hand.

"On what exactly?'

"Not sure of that yet, but when it comes to me you'll be the first to know." They could hear a crowd around the corner chanting about something or other. Sharing a puzzled glance they increased their pace and quickly came to the sight of a rally of people with picket signs approaching them. "What's going on?" Slappy asked, having to shout over the ever increasing sound of the crowd.

"I'm not sure!" He shouted back, though it became painfully obvious after reading the signs, the war in Korea that was currently raging on. Most of the signs protested the use of atomic weapons, asking how the United States could even consider it as a method. Ten minutes passed as the people walked by the squirrels and further down the block, finally getting out of earshot.

"Did . . . I didn't know America was threatening to use atomic bomb." Slappy said, dumbfounded.

"People do a lot of things when they're scared." Morgan commented. Slappy stood there, somewhat frightened but mostly unsure of how bad things were becoming outside of her own world. "Let's go home." He says with no hint of fear or concern in his voice, walking forward at an average speed. Slappy remained frozen for another second before following after him, the thought of money seeming so far away.

* * *

"That wasn't the first time aunt Slappy had heard about the war, but up until that point it had seemed like things couldn't get any worse, and it never really seemed to affect her outside of the war themed cartoons. Then came the bombings August twelfth, then again two weeks later, it wasn't a good time for that part of the world." Skippy rose from the chair, looking from Dot to the clock to the door on his left. "It's starting to get stuffy, could we head outside?" He asked.

"Of course," She said, rising from the chair and leading him to the exit. "If you aren't a Warner then you'd get lost in this tower." She exclaimed, walking through a multitude of doors that hopefully led to the outside. "Actually, even if you are a Warner you'd still probably get lost once in awhile." After what seemed like forever walking through several differently themed rooms they reached the outside world, with the sun still shining brightly above them. Skippy wrapped both hands around the railing and took one long breath of fresh air. Looking out over the studio lot from such a high point, he could see almost everything.

"Any idea where Yakko and Wakko went?" He asked, tilting his head to the left and getting a different perspective.

"They're probably inside the tower, or maybe they went somewhere. With us you really have no idea where we could be at any given moment." She stood less than a meter from him, leaning over the rail. "They'll probably be back by tonight or tomorrow morning."

"I should probably keep going with the story, huh?"

"When you're ready and if you're up to it" She replied.

"Not really, but that doesn't matter. Aunt Slappy became anti-war after that; a quarter of her paycheck would always go to something involving Korea. The majority of it – thanks to Morgan's persuasion – was placed into a bank account. For the next two years things seemed to follow the same routine for them; Morgan would get money from his games and Slappy slowly rose from the ranks of unknown to moderately famous. She also met Walter Wolf during one of her cartoons; they became great friends from working together so much."

"Right, she told me that once. She never mentioned Morgan though, what happened to him?"

"We'll get there," He assured, "Aunt Slappy never told me this but it was obvious they made . . . did . . . had –"

"Sex?" Dot guessed, interrupting Skippy's stuttering mess.

"Ugh, yeah . . . yeah." He continued to struggle with the story, obviously uncomfortable beyond all believe. "I was seven . . . the farthest anyone could go with a girl was kissing. As much as I'd like to move off this subject it's a crucial part of the story . . . a sad part though."

* * *

Fright, it was the only thing that could even begin to describe her reaction. Maybe it was a fluke though, just like the other five pregnancy tests in the trash bin beside her. A million thoughts shot through her head at once, giving her a nasty migraine to top it all off. Morgan had gone out to his usual nightly games and wouldn't be back 'til morning, leaving the entire apartment to Slappy for the night. The silence around her only served to increase the dread. "Great, just great!" She shouted, nobody heard though.

When she considered everything it wasn't all that shocking, it wasn't like this was the first time they made love unsafely. But the possibility of getting pregnant had never seemed . . . well . . . possible. They were just two young idiots who wanted to enjoy themselves and not fear the consequences. She turned on the television, wanting to drive away the silence that came with an empty home. _"Coming up "You Bet Your Life" with Groucho Marx!" _Proclaimed an eager announcer.

She turned the volume as high as it could go, drowning out her own thoughts lest they drive her insane. Of course the increased noise of the television was not mixing well with her pounding head. Nothing could be simple for her could it? Even with Groucho's witty remarks she was still trapped in her head, wondering how this might affect her career. It seemed her father was right; all she was supposed to do with her life was become a mommy, now it seemed that it was inevitable. She hated kids, couldn't be around them for more than ten minutes before they got on her nerves. Her life plan had never involved a child, not birthing one, not raising one. Morgan hadn't said anything about kids, which was either a sign he didn't want any or that he didn't want to push her about it.

No! She wasn't willing to let this be the end of Slappy Squirrel, not before she became one of the greater 'toons alive. This kid would either be aborted or put up for adoption long before she'd have to look at it. She wasn't sure if she was feeling relief or guilt at that thought but that didn't matter, her mind was set. She turned off the blaring television and walked the few feet to the bedroom, mind slowing just enough for her to think she could fall asleep.

But only enough for her to think she could.

When Morgan came strolling through the door at seven in the morning, Slappy was instantly in front of him. "We need to talk." She proclaimed.

"Hold on." He lifted his hand in the air, index finger raised. "Let me get a good look." He said, looking at her in the lingerie he had gotten as a two year anniversary gift. Honestly it was a gift for him, one that drove him absolutely nuts. "Alright, what's so urgent?" He asked.

"I'm . . . we're . . . I'm pregnant." She said, expecting some emotional display, either anger or happiness. Instead she got a look that said he really couldn't feel any less interested.

"Is that . . . good?" He asked in a voice as emotionless as his expression.

"No." She said, a little dumbfounded and scared. "No that's not good." She could feel tears forming in her eyes, wrapping her arms around him as she started to sob. He remained distant for the rest of the night, though Slappy could tell his mind was in full throttle thinking up something. She didn't know if it would benefit both of them, or just one.

* * *

"No reaction whatsoever?" Dot asked.

"Aunt Slappy said it was the scariest thing she ever saw, outside of a Golden Girls slash fic she stumbled on one day." Dot chuckled out of shock, something he added to the ever-expanding list of cute things she did. "She told Morgan about her plan of either giving the baby up or aborting the pregnancy."

"How'd he react to that?"

"He nodded his head."

"And?" She asked after prolonged silence.

"Nothing, he just nodded his head." The view of the entire studio from this point seemed like something out of a dream, hundreds of locations from around the world brought so close together with the use of paint, metal, and plastic. Nothing amazing was currently happening on them, but it was still a little awe inspiring to see such realism in them. This studio had always amazed him as a child; every time he had been there it had changed in large ways: one week he'd walk through the Wild West, the next he'd be on some post-apocalyptic city block complete with broken cars and buildings. Honestly a kid couldn't ask for a better place to grow up in, nor to treat like a playground.

"Slappy wasn't much of a fan of kids, did you ever feel that from her?" Dot asked, interrupting the silence.

"No, she never hated me, if anything she was scared." Things grew silent yet again, the only sound being the beeping of a truck from somewhere on the lot.

* * *

"_Aunt Slappy was a little deterred by Morgan's lack of emotional support, so she turned to the only other friend she had."_

"What am I suppose to do Walter, he's acting like a complete zombie." Slappy explained, sitting across from her co-star for almost half of her cartoons.

"It's a lot to take Slappy, I know I'd be frightened if I was going to be a father." Walter said through his gravelly voice and odd tone.

"But he's not going to be, where aborting!" She shouted for the restaurant to hear, receiving disgusted looks from almost everyone. "What?" She asked, reaching into her purse for one of her many explosives.

Walter reached over the table and gripped her shoulder. "Slappy," He recognized that twinkle in her eye, the one that always came right before an explosion.

"Don't be a spoilsport Walter," She looked to his hand before turning her gaze to Walter himself, when his stare didn't waiver she gave in. "Fine!" She removed her hand from the purse, dramatically holding it up to show it was empty. "It's my choice to abort and there staring at me like I'm the devil himself."

"About that, why not think it over?" He said, leaning back into his seat as he let go of Slappy's hand.

"I've just started getting my career together, why do I have to put it on hold for some kid?" She stabbed the piece of apple pie in front of her with a fork, angry over the lack of an explosion.

"You don't have to put anything on hold." He assured, glad he wasn't that pie currently being brutally massacred by the shiny utensil.

"What, do I just drag the thing with me to some audition?"

"Well no, but just because you have a kid doesn't mean you'll be any different then how you are now. That Humphrey Bogart has two kids but he's still acting, have you seen _The African Queen_?" The wolf asked, attempting to drive away from the subject of abortion, and one of the weakest segues he had ever heard.

"We're getting off subject Walter," She said, driving it straight back. "Bogart was a big name before kids; he will never have problems finding work. He has movies and I have four minute cartoons, it's not like we're in the same league."

"Alright, bad example."

"You think!" She leaned her head back and took a few deep breaths. "I can just imagine the look on my father's face if he ever found out about this. A smug grin plastered on his face, 'You should have stayed home and found a man Slappy, but you had to be stubborn and run off to Cally-fornia'." She put some weird accent into California.

"You're not telling him?"

"Why bother, if I abort then there'll be no reason to mention it, if I put it up for adoption then there will still be no reason to tell him."

Walter sighed, lifting the cup of coffee halfway to his mouth. "Just promise me you'll think about this, my sister always says her kids are the best things to happen to her." Slappy reluctantly nodded. "Good." He took a sip of the coffee before moving onto a different subject. "So I heard that one of Sid's tentacles is fake."

"Me too, he had plastic surgery to make it longer." They continued gossiping through lunch, which seemed to ease Slappy's mind. She wasn't sure if she'd really consider the kid or if she was just saying she would, but it seemed to shut him up. An hour passed as they sat at the table and ordered food, not good food but all of it was edible. Luckily for Slappy Walter had paid for everything, claiming she'd get the next one but knowing full well that he'd be paying for that as well.

"Just take a few minutes in the park, watch the kids play and if you still feel the same way about the baby then I won't say another word about it." He said as they walked to the exit, she uttered a silent okay. "I'll see you next week." His parting words as they turned separate ways. Slappy heeded his advice and stopped by the local park just a few blocks from her home, where seven children were currently playing. She hated herself for even listening to the big bad wolf, but he was a good friend and she owed him at least this much.

"Five minutes, that's all." She assured herself, sitting on an empty bench across the street. For four long minutes nothing happened, nothing that could change her opinion anyway. The little girls were crying and the little boys were making the girls cry, most of them were acting like brats. The one over in the corner was the only exception, who had instantly jumped in to defend what Slappy assumed was his sister. Obviously this wasn't enough to distil her, but it was touching in a sappy way. She left after another three minutes, still deadest against raising a child, but abortion wasn't sounding as simple as it had been.

"Talk about out of character." Slappy mutters, walking away. The apartment was silent when she opened the door; curtains were drawn to keep the sun light from washing in. "Morgan!" She called out, switching on the light beside the couch. No answer, which meant he was sleeping or he wasn't home, either way the quiet was welcomed gratefully. She turned on the television and fell to the couch, groaning. Just two hours earlier she was dead-set to abort the pregnancy, now that seemed a little cruel. Walter had said kids were the best thing to ever happen to his sister, but that could be the complete opposite for her.

In retrospect she had known a few good kids back home, the ones who said she was cool and that they wanted to be like her were the ones she liked. But even then all they had been were admirers, not some life that depended on her. It then hit her that maybe this hatred was just fear of having such a big responsibility. She waived that off though, saying she was no Sigmund Freud and that psychoanalysis was not her specialty. Hours seemed to fly by as Slappy sat on that couch, turning off the light when she realized it had passed midnight. Shuffling into the bedroom and slamming down on the bed just as she had the couch, she embraced the arms of sleep.

Something didn't feel right though, like she was laying on something other than the blanket. She reached for the lamp on her side of the bead. Flipping the switch and illuminating the room revealed that she was lying on paper, more specifically thin green pieces of paper and lots of them. "Morgan!" She yelled, pushing off the bed and walking through the apartment. Returning to the bedroom, there was a note on the floor that was obviously meant for her.

* * *

Suspense? Hopefully yes but I wouldn't blame you if you just shrugged. I have this ever tugging feeling that Slappy isn't in character, but it's the past so I think I might have been saved by a loophole (possibly).

Well, I think it's safe to say we've reached the halfway point of this story and I'd like to thank everyone who's reviewed or even followed the story up to this point. The next chapter will be uploaded soon, but don't hold your breath. Seriously don't hold your breath, it will lead to passing out and possible brain damage and I just can't have that weighing me down while typing.


	6. Chapter 6

**And We Proudly Present Skippy Squirrel!**

**Chapter Six**

**Slappy's Child**

**Disclaimer: ****Yada yada flambé!**

* * *

"It had two sentences," Skippy explained, looking out of the corner of his eyes to see Dot's amusing expression of puzzlement.

"I don't suppose it said he'd be home tomorrow and that he loved her?" Dot questioned.

"'It wasn't supposed to go this far. Enough to pay the bills for the next two months.' That's all he left her, seventeen words written in pencil on a piece of notebook paper."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Skippy confirmed, watching as the setting sun turned the sky shades of orange and purple. "There was no call, no other letter, just that. She has never heard from him since, told me she never thought about him either. She was lying, though."

"How could you tell?" Dot asked, admiring the colors of the sky as well.

"He was her first love, he had taught her all his tricks, he was the one who helped start her career, and through it all she could never just forget him."

"So Slappy got rid of the child after that?" Dot asked, shivering as the temperature began dropping. Skippy – noticing this – removed his red jacket and draped it over her shoulders. In all honesty, it looked better on her than him. "Thanks," she whispered, kissing his cheek. He was certain he was smiling like an idiot, but the thought just increased that smile.

"Ugh." He shook his head back and forth, struggling to return to the story at hand. "She was torn on that; part of her wanted to give the thing away as quickly as possible and forget everything about that man. Then there was the sympathetic part of her that knew how bad it felt to be abandoned. After eight months she had mostly wrapped her head around keeping it."

* * *

Of course her money had to stop going to all these anti-war associations if she wanted to keep the apartment for her and her child, but that still wouldn't be enough for all the expenses that would come with raising a kid: food, toys, clothes. Nothing is free these days. Well . . . almost nothing.

"Good to hear!" Walter said when Slappy had told him of her choice. As cliché as it may sound, she could still rely on her one true friend.

"I still don't know how I'm going to live with this thing; I barely have enough for myself to live on," Slappy explained, walking from the apartment complex to the yard out front where two large tables had been set parallel to each other. A white sign stabbed into the ground had a crudely drawn "Yard Sale" written on it. Walter's plan: sell all of his belongings for outrageous prices; surprisingly they already had two customers.

"That sister I mentioned, she runs a daycare out of her house all week. I know it seems odd leaving a baby in the care of a wolf, but she's a very nice person," Walter said, dropping another two boxes onto the table. "If I kiss up a little I'm sure she'll give you some kind of discount."

"Thanks Walter. Was she scared of being a mother?" she asked, grabbing the comb and toothbrush out of the bathroom and throwing them onto a pile labeled "burn".

"I think everyone is at first, but she got use to it down the road. Why, are you scared?" he asked, constantly walking in and out of the room.

"No!" she quickly denied. "Alright, maybe just a little."

"Coming from someone who plays with explosives for a living, that's funny!" he shouted from outside.

"Speaking of explosives I got a few spares on hand, don't make me use them!" she warned, though he knew she meant it teasingly.

"So what are you going to name it?"

"Well it sure as hell isn't going to be Morgan. I don't know, my father always wanted a Skippy in the family, but that name always sounded weird to me."

"As opposed to 'Slappy'?"

"Fair enough," she shrugged, "I'm still trying to afford the thing, Walter. I haven't really thought of anything else." That was a lie, though; she had a number of things planned – for example, the nursery.

Within two weeks she had completely hollowed out the bedroom, repainted it from lime green to sky blue, bought and built the crib as well as a number of toys and games that seemed relatively interesting, and bought eight pairs of relatively small clothes. She moved the bed and nightstand into the living room, placing them in the center were the couch use to be (she had given it to Walter to give to his sister as some form of a bribe). It wasn't like she had anyone to invite over, aside from her lupus friend.

Her schedule on Monday consisted of going to a taping for her new cartoon, then heading with Walter over to his sister's house so she could see the makeshift daycare and make a nice first impression, and finally getting a sonogram to make sure everything was running smoothly. If she stopped to think about this however, she'd get nervous over what life would be like for the next few years. The more she did to prepare for this child the more she realized it was actually happening, odd as it may sound.

Slappy swore she'd do a better job raising this kid then her parents had with her, though she was never beaten or abused. Her main problem with them was how they had always shoved their ideals down her throat; mainly about being more womanly, which in hindsight was probably why she strived to be a cartoon star, a career populated almost entirely by men. Her mistake was telling that to her parents, who then tried even harder to turn her some domesticated housewife.

Her mom disgusted her when she acted like that, which was sadly all the time. Cooking dinner, rubbing feet, never thinking about the outside world outside of grocery shopping and hair appointments; those were the proper things for women, not the football games Slappy had played with the neighborhood boys. At Christmas she wanted a baseball and bat. Instead, she got dolls and makeup. She got out of that house the minute she could afford to, telling her parents to shove their notions of what she should be someplace the sun didn't shine.

They didn't like that.

Daddy told her if she walked out that door, she'd never be allowed back. Mother just sat in the corner and cried, asking god where she went wrong. Needless to say that was the last she ever heard from them, which she wasn't crying over. Honestly, if her parents wanted to play grandma and grandpa for the kid, that was manageable, but the moment they started forcing expectations on it would be when she pushed them away again. This was assuming she ever talked to them, which was highly doubtful when stubbornness runs in the family.

She walked to the nearest bus stop, sitting on the cold metal bench beside the sign. There was a small tugging feeling in her gut that wanted her to walk the few feet to the phone booth and dial her old home number, maybe bridge the gap between them. After all, how heartless could someone be that they'd write a daughter and grandchild out of their life in general? She stood up and took small, shuffling steps towards the booth; a stronger feeling was telling her to just turn around and sit back down, but she ignored it to the best of her abilities.

A quarter in the slot beside the phone, the beeping that came with each press of a shiny metallic button; it made her nervous and angry at the same time to the point where her hands were actually trembling. Two rings that seemed miles apart and hours long came before the instantly annoying sound of her mother's voice. "Hello?" One word and Slappy was already enraged beyond all reason.

"Hello, Mother," she greeted through clenched teeth.

"_Slappy?_"

"Yeah, I know it's been awhile, but I –"

"_Two years, Slappy,_" she calmly spoke into the phone.

"Can you blame me? All I ever heard from you was how much I needed to change, how I needed to be just like you!" It had turned into a shouting match rather early. Well, that was a lie, her mom never shouted because that too was unwomanly; Slappy had expected to get at least a sentence in before any sparks began to fly. She was receiving odd looks from passers-by who had obviously never heard of the word "private." "I was never allowed to have fun or play sports of any kind and it pissed me off!"

"_Language young –_ "

"You're doing it again!" She wanted to smash the glass on either side of her. "I'm not like you, I don't like tea parties or dolls and I hate dresses!" This conversation was oddly similar to the one they had when she left, all she needed was her father there to shout with them.

"_Proper women wear dresses Slappy._" She stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "_They do not curse or play roughly._"

"Well I do. I curse whenever I'm mad, and if I want to play football or baseball, then I do!" Every part of her was regretting this one call.

"_You'll be lucky if you ever marry a man who can live with that attitude._" The calm tone was like salt on a wound for Slappy; her hands were shaking rapidly as she prepared to hang up. "_I was so hopeful you'd have changed by now._"

"I know the feeling, Mom," she said in disappointment, placing the phone back in its cradle without another word from either end. Slappy slammed her fist into the glass panel on her left, making a small crack that was only visible if one knew exactly where to look. Letting out a frustrated groan, Slappy rubbed her now sore hand and returned to the bus stop, more sure than ever that her child would not be celebrating Grandparents' Day. She had honestly believed her parents would've changed, or at least have pretended to. No big loss, she didn't crave their approval or support. In fact, part of her wanted to call them back and just shout it to them in hopes of pissing them off.

Sadly the bus pulled up right before she could execute this supposedly brilliant plan. Better they never find out, anyway. They'd try to raise it with the morals of the thirties, when Caucasian males were the dominant race and everyone else was just a servant.

"Slappy, you feeling okay?" Walter asked as Slappy mumbled her way through rehearsals. "Slappy!" He shouted in an attempt to get her attention.

"Huh, oh, well aside from the constant fear of being a single mother, losing my figure, and screwing this kid up I'm just dandy!" she yelled, causing heads to turn. "Go back to work!" she ordered, not surprised when they jumped in fright and rushed to continue working. "Then there's throwing up every morning, how fun is that?"

"Sorry," he muttered, shrugging as he turned away. With Morgan gone, as well as her family out of the question, Walter was the only person that hadn't screwed her over. She could appreciate the irony that the person she caused bodily harm to each week was her only friend, which was probably saying a lot about herself.

She groaned in frustration, "I called my folks, tried to tell them what was happening." He walked right back to her, no smug grin or smile, just that of a concerned friend. "The instant I heard my mom's voice I remembered why I haven't talked to them in so long."

"They didn't take it well?" He asked, placing his arm around her shoulder and leading her off to the side of the set, where they weren't the center of attention and victims of eavesdropping.

"I didn't get that far, she just started lecturing me on how a woman is supposed to act and behave!" Shouting returned but nobody dared lift their head. "I just can't stand knowing I'm related to her!"

"You really can't blame her, that's what her generation taught her."

"Don't make excuses for her, Walter; if she was really a caring mother then she wouldn't constantly try to change me. Here's the kicker . . . are you ready for this?" she asked Walter, who just stood there with his eyes as wide as the moon his ancestors had howled at back in the older days, shook his head back and forth. "She said that I would be lucky to marry a man the way I act!" His ears were starting to ring from her constant shouting, but he wasn't going to complain. Slappy deserved a nice vent right now. She didn't react when Morgan left her and not once had he ever seen her cry, which meant an unhealthy habit of burying emotions.

"If I ever hear her voice again, I swear I will lose it!" Most people had left the room by then, not required to have their eardrums bleed like Walter the friendly wolf was. "God only knows what my father would have said if I hadn't hung up." At least she didn't shout that time. In fact, she kind of laughed.

"I think you should sit down for a moment."

"No, I just want to finish taping and get out of here." She looked around the room. "Where'd everybody go?"

Filming went smoothly, Slappy knew her lines, her marks, when and how hard to swing the mallet, right down to the spin-changes. Almost everyone believed nothing was weighing on her shoulders, except for Walter, who could easily tell how stressed Slappy was. She nearly missed him every time she threw an explosive; in fact he had to lean into one just so it would hit him.

Was that considered a suicide attempt, or assisting a friend?

* * *

"We're lost!" he shouted, hearing an echo amidst the silence of the long hallway.

"We are not lost; I know exactly . . . where we want to be," explained Wakko, opening door after door for anything recognizable.

"Great," Yakko threw his arms in the air melodramatically, "Because as long as you know that, we'll be there in no time, right?"

"Could've sworn there was a directory somewhere around here."

"Assuming you know where 'here' is. That's a crucial part of all this, you know."

"You know maybe if – instead of making clever little remarks – you could try and help me in some way." Wakko rounded another corner, feeling just as much hope as he had the last three turns. "You're the oldest, shouldn't you know the way?"

"You're the one who said we should go as far into this place as we possibly could, it's not my fault this tower has over a thousand rooms!" More echoes followed as they walked through a door that led to yet another hallway. "If you remembered to bring a paintbrush we could have just painted a door to the living room."

"You actually wear pants; don't you have anything in those pockets that could help?"

"I've checked, I'm prepared to pitch a tent and start a fire but other than that I'm useless. What about you and that bag of yours?"

"It's with my paintbrush," he stated, embarrassed, opening a door that apparently led to the nineteen-eighty Olympic games.

"What about your hat? There has to be something in there to use," Yakko asked, opening the door across from Wakko, which followed the nineteen-forty games.

"Elvis Presley and the _real_ Paul McCartney," Wakko closed the door and sniffed the air. "I bet Dot's back by now with everything on that list, all those pizzas and the ice cream tubs or those –"

"Stop Wakko, you keep mentioning food and I think I'll lose it." Yakko yawned as he pushed his brother around the next corner, "We just have to keep moving and hope we'll find something familiar."

"I'm getting dizzy," Wakko stated, brushing against the wall as he gripped his throbbing head. Yakko recognized this. Too long between meals and his little brother's hypoglycemia acted up. Of course, a spinning head would be the least of his problems if they couldn't find food, quick. This was never that big of a problem and they treated it well and calmly, as if it was nothing more than the lactose intolerance that Yakko had.

"Alright time to take what we can get." Yakko explained, walking from door to door for some entrance to a fast food joint. Wakko remained frozen against the wall, taking a number of deep breaths. After searching through all the doors that seemed completely food free, only two remained, neither of which were any different, judging from their outside appearance. Yakko opened the last door on the left, "Oh god!" He slammed it shut with enough force to made the entire hall rattle.

"What is it?" Wakko yelled from down the hall, hearing an echo.

Yakko took a moment to think up some response to the question that would be appropriate yet evasive. "Remember when you asked if you could stay up late and watch that Wes Craven movie from nineteen seventy-two?"

"Yeah?"

"You still can't and don't ever open this door!" Yakko ordered, pointing to the door.

"Fine," he agreed in utter confusion, head pounding too much to even care. Yakko took one last look at the left door before opening the one across from it, fingers crossed that this one wouldn't be as graphic as the last.

"Bienvenido," he was greeted by a friendly looking woman, "¿En qué podemos ayudarle?" The smell of rice and seafood was thick in the air; plates were brought back and forth from table to table. The place had a warm atmosphere about it – nice blood red walls and candles set throughout the room, with music playing on a sound system above.

'Wakko, restaurant!" he shouted to his brother down the hall, who struggled to make the walk. "Andalé, little brother!"

* * *

The sunset was gone. Now all that remained was the pale white glow of the half moon above. The sky wasn't much to look at; years of light pollution had robbed the night of its stars, but damn if the city lights weren't beautiful in their own unique way. Colors of red, yellow, green; all spectrums of the rainbow were visible in some way or another, one just had to look hard enough. That applied to a lot, though. California had a million things happening all the time; people arguing over a car crash to the west, a couple dry humping to the east, a couple just plain humping to the south. He had a catchphrase once, four letters, started with an S.

"You okay?" Dot asked.

"Huh?" he replied, turning his head rapidly as if Dot had appeared out of nowhere.

"Are you okay?" she repeated.

"Yeah, I've just been in my head a lot these past few days. Consequence of an empty house, I guess. Where . . . ugh . . . where was I?"

"Slappy told Walter about the call to her parents," she explained, "Let's go back inside, it's freezing out here." She opened the water tower door and walked inside, waiting for Skippy to follow. He nodded, pushing himself away from the rail he was carelessly leaning over and joining her indoors. "You want this back?" she asked, removing his red jacket from around her shoulders.

"You can keep it, I have others at home." He neglected to mention that they were all from so many years ago they couldn't possibly have fit, but that seemed so irrelevant compared to her lovely smile, no matter how cheesy or clichéd it may sound. He was left questioning what in the world had ever persuaded this girl to have feelings towards him. He doubted it was his appearance; Dot always had an attraction to the buff body-builders of Hollywood action flicks, it was her type and he certainly did not fit the bill. He would never mention this, consciously telling himself that pointing it out would be like looking a gift horse in the mouth, subconsciously afraid she would leave him for someone better.

Maybe she had a point; his self-esteem was pretty low these days. "So what happened next?" she asked, steering him into a large library complete with a fireplace and cozy-looking furniture.

"One day you're going to have to show me around this place," he said, enjoying how nice the carpet felt as they walked to a black couch in the dead center of the room.

"That'll take more than a day," she laughed, gesturing for him to sit on the couch as she walked to the aforementioned fireplace. "I still find new rooms whenever I go on a walk." She crouched in front of the fireplace, and in a matter of seconds a fire was crackling. As she walked back to him, he assumed she would sit next to him, but that didn't mean he was disappointed when she laid her head on his lap, lying on the couch with her feet hanging off the other side. "Walter and Slappy, they were pretty close. Did they ever . . . well . . . hook up?" She looked up at him, able to see the fire reflected in his pure black eyes.

"I never asked," he replied, "I'm sure some feelings were developed, but Aunt Slappy never really went into what happened between them." It was odd how right this setting felt to him; a fire warming the room on a cold Californian night (which wasn't really that cold), a comfortable couch to sit on with the girl of his dreams so close. The only way this day could have been any better was if he had someone to go home to brag to later, rather than a dark and empty house.

* * *

The apartment was dark and empty, like it always was the past months, but she wasn't complaining. Crashing on the bed from exhaustion, Slappy aimlessly felt for the remote around her. She couldn't care less if she found it; after all, falling asleep was the first thing on her current to-do list, but a little background noise never hurt. Slowly her arm became harder to move as it grew heavier, until it got to the point where it just wasn't worth the effort of lifting her hand.

Her dreams had been filled with symbolism, and in the morning she woke up in a cold sweat, right before bolting to the bathroom for the required morning sickness. Saturday consisted of lounging around and eating whatever she felt like, from entire jars of pickles to the cold bucket of chicken from two nights ago. This led to more morning sickness, and then more eating, and finally back to sleeping. Motherhood was surprisingly boring, at least for the time being. Catching the I Love Lucy marathon was a must for her laid-back personality; obviously, the entire focus of the episodes was an approaching pregnancy from the main star, and Slappy didn't fail to notice the irony.

"I'm fine, Walter," she insisted, dipping a half eaten pickle into a jar of peanut butter. "Just exercising, have to keep my girlish figure," she lied.

"_Right, exercising._" She could actually hear him rolling his eyes over the phone.

"So what do you want?"

"_You want to meet up for lunch?_"

"We had lunch yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that," she replied, reaching for another pickle only to find the jar empty. She proceeded to drink the juice in one chug. "I don't like wasting your time, Walter. You have better things to do with your life then hang out with some hormonal pregnant chick."

"_I really don't,_" he informed, sounding fairly embarrassed. "_Tell me you don't want to get out of that stuffy apartment and away from those I Love Lucy marathons._" She was a little freaked out about how he knew that, but that didn't make it any less true. Nothing screamed pathetic like sitting on her rear and watching Lucy and Ethel act like clowns while the world continued to spin outside her door.

"Usual place?" she asked, struggling to get out of the chair.

"_The only one we can afford._" He laughs, hanging up the phone. The small bistro just a few blocks over had relatively good food, certainly not as bad as that diner she had been in when she first met Morgan; the food was edible, the people were nice, it was moderately clean, and it wasn't that expensive to enjoy.

Slappy got there ten minutes early and sat in a booth near the back, ordering half of the entire menu. Walter showed up fifteen minutes later, spotting Slappy and her mountain of plates instantly. "I don't have to pay for all this, do I?" he asked with honest fright in his voice as he approached.

"Dangers of bringing a pregnant woman to lunch," she said, finishing off her second steak for the morning. "You knew what you were getting into."

"Will I be able to afford food for myself?" he jokingly asked, pushing the plates aside, fearful the stack would come crashing down.

"No," she replied, absolutely serious and without a shadow of a doubt. "I'm afraid we may very well have to dine-and-dash. So what's up, Walter? Why another lunch date?" She signaled the waitress to hurry up with the rest of the food. "I mean, I'm not exactly that much fun to hang out with these days."

"You're always fun to be around. Without your mallet, that is."

"And you compliment me after you find out I've probably made you bankrupt. Are you okay?" she asked, leaning over the table in worry.

"Actually I'm kind of nervous," His eyes went over everything in the room as his mouth goes dry. "Slappy I think I'm in l –"

"Walter, please don't finish that," she said, dropping both utensils onto the floor.

"But –"

"I can't have you tell me you love me, Walter, not when I have to deal with everything else on my plate."

"It's not like I meant for this to happen Slappy, but it has and now I either tell you and face the consequence or bite my tongue and go insane." He went quiet for a moment, creating an awkward silence. "If you have any feelings for me, then I want you to just tell me now. I won't ask for anything else," he stated after a minute.

"Nothing else?" she repeated, rubbing at her stomach.

"Nothing, no relationship or commitment, just tell me if you feel the same way and we'll leave it at that." Walter claimed, leaning dangerously forward on the table, completely forgetting the mountain of plates beside him.

"Y . . . ye-" she stuttered before being interrupted by a piercing scream.

"Miss, miss you're bleeding!" shouted a woman from across the room, upsetting the wolf and causing a slight panic amongst every woman who thought they were being spoken to. Slappy looked from arm to arm, finding absolutely no sign of the red sticky substance on her; she shrugged and returned her gaze to Walter. By then, everyone besides Walter was staring at her in fright. She and the wolf exchanged confused glances as two waitresses rushed to her side. "Somebody call an ambulance!"

"Could someone fill me in here? This some kind of prank to freak me out?" she asked, looking over the sea of expressions in the bistro. A millisecond passed before a warm feeling on her thighs became noticeable, quickly grabbing her attention.

Now she saw the blood. That didn't mean she believed it, though. Her mind was still dedicated to the prank excuse, even if it made absolutely no sense. "You're going to be alright!" one of the woman insisted. Even though she was yelling this directly into Slappy's ear, it sounded like the woman was a thousand miles away. The room was spinning; everyone looked weird - their faces were distorted and stretched, and every part of Slappy was feeling heavy. Finally, the room just slipped away as she was pulled through a long, black corridor.

She passed out.

Walter constantly asked the paramedic if Slappy would be alright, repeating himself every five minutes. The tone in which the man responded was more than enough to make it clear that he was annoying them. "Sir, your wife will be fine but if you keep asking I swear she'll be asking the very same question about you when she wakes up!" The wolf was too transfixed by the "wife" remark to register the threat, and thankfully the hospital was only three minutes away, saving him from the rage of a rather large and burly man who really shouldn't have been driving an ambulance with his anger issues.

They rushed her inside on a gurney, briefing a doctor on symptoms and exchanging words that soared over Walter's head. A nurse walked to Walter and told him to take a seat in the waiting room. He claimed to be her husband and that he needed to be beside her. The lie wasn't good enough, and he was told he could either sit down or be escorted out by force; he chose the former and angrily stomped to one of the chairs in the right corner.

He was making a mental note to hit himself later for not bringing this up sooner. Or maybe it was some sign that he wasn't supposed to have such feelings for this woman. Nurses chatted, people were escorted outside in wheel chairs. It seemed like forever until he was finally approached by a bald white-coated man. "You're the husband?"

He'd shouted it for most of the staff to hear; at this point it seemed easier to just roll with the lie rather than admit the truth. "Yes."

"Slappy is going to be fine and you can see her whenever you're ready, but I'm afraid she's lost more than blood," he cryptically stated, though Walter knew exactly what he meant. "She's taking this news . . . differently than most. Room eighteen, down the hall and take a left at the end of the corner."

The instructions were not necessary, as the familiar shouting could be heard the second Walter walked through the door and entered the long white hall. He felt like a death row inmate making the walk to an electric chair, hands shaking as he stood outside the door, debating on whether or not to enter the danger zone. He made a mental note to remember to get a scan done while he was there, because there must have been something wrong with him to decided to walk into the room.

"Goddamn it!" she shouted, throwing a jello cup across the room. "This is what I get, Walter!" He'd never seen her angrier. Part of him suspected she was just trying to mask the pain and sadness that she wasn't used to. "I should have just gotten rid of the thing before any of this could happen!"

"What . . . is everything alright?" He immediately regretted asking such a stupid question.

"That's a stupid question. Does everything look alright?" She threw a metal tray at him, flattening his face into the same rectangular shape before it puffed back to normal. "I lost the baby, it's dead."

Some tears were visible; she had nothing left to throw. Walter reluctantly handed her the metal tray for round two. Luckily, she threw it at the window. The glass shattered as the tray whirled out of sight, soaring through the clouds; the wolf was left dumbfounded at the sight of her rage. "You know what else? This isn't even a onetime thing. According to them my pregnancy was nothing short of a miracle, and I'd be lucky to ever have it happen again!"

"Why would it be a miracle?"

"It's personal, Walter." She was shielding her eyes, obviously to hide the fact that she was crying. "I never want to feel this . . . this . . . whatever this is ever again." Her voice was trembling. Walter dreaded the next statement. "I'm done. No more family, no more kids and no more love." She said it with such simplicity, as if eliminating the emotion of love was so easy. She tried to laugh, but it turned into hysterical crying partway through. He had never seen this side of her; in fact he doubted she'd ever felt this distraught over anything.

This meant a lot of things. For one, little Skippy – or whatever she would have named it – was never going to see the world, and two, that apartment was now nothing but bad memories that would drive anyone insane. Even if all hope at a life with Slappy was gone, he'd still be at her beck and call, and shelling out some money to help her find a new home would be the first thing on his list – if she wanted to move, that is.

All he could do was comfort her and tell her it would all be okay. "Hey, at least I got a few free meals out of this." Her attempt at humor was just as bad a mask as the anger was, but she clearly needed it as a coping mechanism. "I didn't even want this thing, but you had to talk me into it, didn't you?"

Now he was thankful that hard metal tray is soaring through clouds right now and not within reach. "I never told you to keep the kid; I just said you shouldn't abort the thing!" He didn't want to shout, but being blamed for something he had no control over was infuriating.

"Well now I don't have to, do I?" She glared at him, hatred in one eye and misery in the other. "I think I need some time alone here. Walter, just . . . just to get my thoughts together." He nodded and exited the room, taking one last look over his shoulder before walking back to the waiting room and returning to his seat.

* * *

"I'm done," he stated, crashing onto the ground.

"What do you mean you're done?" Yakko asked, nearly tripping over his little brother.

"I'm tired, my legs are killing me, and this is a really nice carpet." Wakko explained, stretching out on the floor. "I'm sleeping here for the night."

"We can't sleep here, what if . . . oh god this is nice," Yakko commented, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, hand running across the carpet. "Alright, we'll rest for an hour but then . . ." Yakko was asleep before he could even finish the statement. Wakko wanted to laugh but it seemed like too much work at the moment. He curled up beside his older brother and fell asleep just as quickly.

A door farther down the hall led to the library where Dot and Skippy were sleeping just as peacefully. The world outside the tower was noisy, but the only sounds inside were Wakko's snoring and the twitching of Skippy's fingers on the arm of the couch.

Wakko was dreaming of Don Knotts, Yakko was having a moonlit dinner with Michelle Pfeiffer, Dot was having one of her usual dreams, but instead of Mel Gibson in the lead role as per usual he was replaced by Skippy. "What's that, Officer Skippy Riggs?" She mumbled, drooling slightly. "Oh yes, I'll marry you."

No dreams or nightmares, no flashbacks or memories; Skippy was at total ease.

It couldn't last forever, though.

* * *

Misunderstandings are not fun, unless you're watching "Three's Company", then it's hilarious! By the way, anyone notice kayak is spelled the same backwards, same with race car?

I'm feeling a little random right now, its fun.


End file.
